Disorient
by esama
Summary: Who was he, what had happened to him, why did he have automail - and how was he there, in the past? Au, Time travel, eventual mild slash, spoilers.
1. Lost in Time

Warnings; Spoilers, time travel, amnesia, death of character, etc. FMA manga and Brotherhood based, has nothing what so ever to do with 2003 anime. Might have pairings,** might have slash**, don't know yet.

**Disorient  
****Chapter 1  
****Lost in Time**

There was something blue above him. He stared at it for several minutes, trying to figure out what it was before something white intruded the blueness. Ah, he thought. Sky, that made sense. Why hadn't he thought of that before? And that white thing was a cloud. Why hadn't he realised that it would be sky - had he been expecting something else?

"What was I doing?" he murmured, blinking at the blue sky with its single white cloud, idly travelling somewhere left of him. He had been doing something. It made sense that he had, he had been doing something and that something had left him expecting something else, not the blue sky. But, try as he might, he couldn't think of what that something was. What _had_ he been doing? Had it been important? Why has he forgotten?

There was a sound. He let his thoughts stray away as he listened to it. It was a calm, flowing sort of sound, very soothing. It seemed to come from all around him. For a long while he tried to recall what the sound was, what could be making it? It wasn't something a human voice could produce, nice thought it was.

Human voice. What a concept.

The sound flowed away, and then there was a rustling somewhere to his left. Idly, he turned his head, something grating awkwardly against the back of it as he turned. There was a tree not far from him - it was shaking. Why? Oh, right, he realised as he watched the branches bend and leaves rustle. Wind. And that was the cause of the other sound too, he added to himself, letting his eyes follow the trail of the tree trunk down, and to the ground. It was covered in grass. The wind had been rustling the grass. Of course.

Why hadn't he thought of that?

As he stared at the grass and the tree, his eyes were drawn away and to something in the distance. He frowned; trying to see what it was. It wasn't green like the grass or blue like the sky, but some other colour - but he couldn't quite see it, not from where he was. Where he _lay_, actually. Blinking, he glanced down at himself, to his shoulder and his body. Yes, he was lying on his back on the grass. Of course he was - he could feel the grass prickling against him, the skin of his left arm and shoulder.

And he couldn't see the new thing because the grass formed a sort of hill not far from him, and the small hill was between him and the new, differently coloured thing.

After thinking about this for a moment, he sat up slowly. His first intention was to look again at the new thing and try and see what it was - but something else drew his attention first. His eyes were drawn to his hands. His left seemed perfectly ordinary, if a little stained and scratched. His knuckles were bleeding - what _had_ he been doing?

His right however...

He lifted it up, watching the light gleaming on the metal. It was a little stained too, and more than scratched so the gleam of light on the smooth lines of the metal plates was broken here and there - but it was still metal. It looked like metal and, oh, yes, it felt like metal too when he touched it. His hand, his wrist, elbow - his upper arm too, _and_ his shoulder were all metal.

Fascinated he ran his flesh hand over the metal one, all the way up to the elbow. It connected to his body there, circling his shoulder near the base of his neck and going slightly over his chest before dipping down below his armpit. It continued on at his back, but he couldn't quite reach the middle of it.

Why was his arm metal? Where was his real arm? Or... had he never had it?

He marvelled that for a moment, fascinated with himself. Then, curious, he looked at the rest of himself. He wore a ragged... cloth over his upper body. There was no other way to put it, it was torn and hung only from his left shoulder, and even from there just barely. His trousers seemed about alright, though they had scratches and rips too.

Absently, he reached forward, testing his thighs and knees and - ah. He had metal there too, his left leg, down from mid thigh judging by the feel of it. Quickly he tugged his left trouser leg from his heavy boot, to see. Yes, it was definitely metal, the same metal as his hand. It wasn't in as bad a shape as his arm was, or as dirty, but it was still metal.

How fascinating. Especially since he was fairly sure he was supposed to _know_ this. Why didn't he know this?

Actually... what did he know?

He concentrated onto that for a long while. What did he know? He knew what sky was. And trees and grass and such. He knew arms and legs, he knew how to speak, he knew what trousers were, and boots. Absently tapping his lower lip with his flesh fingers, he frowned. What about the metal limbs. Did they have name? He was sure they did, but it seemed... wait, no, he knew. Automail.

Yes, he had automail limbs.

But... what about the rest?

For a long while he tried to recall something, anything. Nothing came to him, and he had hard time trying to figure out what he was supposed to know. In the end, he glanced around himself for some references, figuring that maybe things would come to him as he saw them, the way sky and clouds and trees and such had.

There was a cluster of trees near by - a forest. Ah, so, he knew that. And that there, in the distance... a mountain maybe? Or a hill. Hill sounded a bit better; mountain seemed something more massive, than a hill. Well, he knew those two things.

Recalling his original reason for sitting up, he turned to look at the thing he hadn't been able to see fully from his lying down position. Ah. A house! That word came to him quickly, and with some satisfaction he took in the house. It was white, with red rooftop, about two stories high, no… three, though the third was probably an attic. Hm. He knew attics.

After a moment of thought, he stood up and looked around. There were other houses in the grassy hills, but they were further away, the white three story house was the closest. Maybe it was a village? A village - a small settlement, usually in countryside, surrounded by crop fields. He nodded with satisfaction - he seemed to know enough things, though they needed some reference points to return to him. That seemed good enough, definitely better than knowing nothing.

But who was he?

That thought seemed to come nowhere and everywhere all at once and it stopped him entirely, ending his thought process. He concentrated onto it, trying to remember, to nudge that slumbering knowledge awake the way everything else had awoken. He had to be _somebody_. A name, and... And a history, he had to have them. Something that would explain why his shirt was ripped and his knuckles bloodied, why he was lying here and why he had two metal limbs. Something that would give meaning to it all.

Nothing. Not even a vague sensation of knowledge, not even the sort of echo he had gotten with everything else. His mind was completely, utterly blank when he tried and failed who and what he was.

That didn't seem quite right to him.

But no matter how he tried, nothing came to him. Shaking his head, he looked around himself again, wondering if something around him would give him a clue. If not to who or what he was, but where he had came from at least. He couldn't have just come to being here, not with these signs of _personal history_ on him. There had to be something.

There didn't seem to be. There were no tracks in the grass around him, just the indent exactly where he had been lying. Maybe he had been lying there long enough for wind to reorganise the grass after he had walked through it? Maybe, but somehow he doubted it. Considering it for a moment, he looked a further around, to the buildings in the distance. He could've come from one of the houses.

Or if he hadn't maybe the people from those houses could tell where he had come from?

That seemed to make sense, so he looked from house the house, trying to figure out which one of them was likely to be his point of origin. Most of them were fairly far away, except for the white three story house with red rooftop, it was rather close. He eyed it thoughtfully for a moment before figuring that he wouldn't get anywhere, standing there, and started making his way towards it.

At least he knew how to walk, he mused as he went. Even with a metal limb, he knew how to walk well enough not to stumble. It felt like normal walking, though of course he wasn't entirely sure what normal walking was, exactly. Still, he thought of walking, he went about walking, and he walked, his metal foot following his orders just as well as his flesh one did. That seemed good enough for him.

Before reaching the house, he encountered something new which his mind seemed to recognise instantly. A road, slightly overgrown with grass in the middle, and with twin tracks of tires or wheels or something lining it. Of course there would be a road – it led away from the house and towards the other buildings further away.

He stepped away from the grass to the road, and followed it up to the house, until he reached it. It was circled by a fence of sorts, and there was a tree next to it, with a swing hanging from a branch. He eyed the house's yard curiously for a long moment, peering this way and that and recognising several new things. Rafters and a bucket, a rake leaning onto the side of the house and old well little further away – a shovel not far from and a bench of flowers. A clothesline with sheets hanging from it.

And of course, single stone step leading up to the green door of the house. He considered it for a moment before nodding to himself, getting a pretty good idea about what he was supposed to do with it. With that decided, he stepped forward, to the stone step and to the door – and then he knocked and waited.

He could hear someone saying something and then, "I'll get it!" was called from inside. There was a thunder of hasty footsteps before the door was opened. "Yes?"

He stared at the one who had opened the door for a long while. It was a… boy, yes, that was right. A boy child, with short golden blonde hair and golden eyes. Hair and eyes, he thought with wonder, and thought that he probably had them too. He wondered what colour they were, while glancing the boy curiously up and down. White shirt, light blue trousers, socks.

"Hey, mister, are you okay?" the boy asked and then turned, without waiting for an answer, to call inside. "Mo-om! There is a guy here, I think he's hurt! He's bleeding!"

"What? Oh, dear –" a woman's voice, he realised, wondering if he could always recognise genders by voice. Genders. That was an interesting notion that brought up all sort of realisation about human beings. And human beings too! He was one of them, probably, even if he had metal limbs, and –

Then he woman came into view, coming from inside the house to the doorway. She didn't have golden hair but brown, and her eyes were green – she wore a shirt too, but she had an apron over it. Her eyes widened a bit as she saw him, and for a moment she seemed to be struck utterly speechless. Why? Because of him?

He glanced down at himself, and frowned. Maybe he should've done something about his broken shirt before he had came here – he hadn't even considered it, but maybe it wasn't all that good, to march up to someone's house in a broken shirt. He didn't know what he could've done about it, but…

"Mom?" the golden haired boy asked, confused, and the woman seemed to snap out of her shock.

"Oh, yes, um…" she blinked and then pushed the door further open. "Come on in. Ed, get the medical kit, would you? Al!" she called further inside. "Al, dear, would you bring me some hand towels and a pail from the bathroom? Bring them to the kitchen!" Then she turned to him, reaching and taking his automail hand. "Come on inside, lets get you cleaned up."

He followed, confused and fascinated, and watched _everything_ as they passed them by. Carpet, stairs, coat rack with coats and hats and scarves – oh, a mirror, and a portrait, a corkboard with papers and pictures, wallpaper… things went by fast, but he managed to name almost everything, from the ceiling lamp to the footstool and the shoehorn that lay on the floor beside several pairs of shoes.

Then they were in a kitchen – with stoves and cupboards and sink and table and chairs and window and tablecloth and entire shelf full of spice bottles. The woman – a mother, he realised, seeing that there was a child about, who was calling her _mom_ – was pushing him to sit in one of the kitchen chairs, while the golden haired boy, who had gone away, rushed back carrying a fabric bag. And then there was also another boy, carrying a wooden pail and several neatly folded towels.

"Put some warm water into this, boys," the woman said, pointing the pail while taking the bag and the towels. "How badly hurt are you?" she asked then, opening the bag and taking out bottles and couple neat rolls of cotton gauze and such.

The question, he realised, was directed at him. "I… don't know," he answered, while the boys poured water from the tap into the pail, before carrying it to the table.

"Are you in any pain?" the woman asked, dipping a corner of one of the towels into the water, and then turning to him. She begun to wipe his face with the white towel, and as she did, the corner begun to slowly turn red.

He hissed, as she touched something. There was twinge of something sharp and uncomfortable. Was that pain? "A little, now," he said, and then realised that he was more than a little. There were… distant pain, almost all over him. The knuckles of his left hand, his wrist, near about his ribs, his right knee… "I think I'm… bruised," he said, both fascinated and a little annoyed now. He hadn't realised it, but he was damaged. He was _damaged_, and he had no idea why.

"Nothing unbearable?" she asked worriedly, and after moment of thought he shook his head. He hadn't even realised he was, before, so he could bear it easily enough. It was a little more difficult now that he knew he was in pain, but it wasn't… bad. It probably could've been worse.

"Is he one of granny Pinako's patients?" the other boy asked – not the first one, this one had different shaped eyes and his hair was shorter. Al? Wasn't that what the woman had called him?

"I… don't know. I don't think so, dear," the woman said, as she went about her work. She wiped his face, until the towel's corner was all bloody, and then she dipped another corner in the water and continued while the boys watched with sort of curious fascination which he, in a way, returned.

"What is your name?" the woman asked eventually, after putting the towel away and instead taking a smaller cloth and pouring clear liquid from one of the bottles into it. When she pressed the small cloth to his forehead, it stung even worse than before, and he hissed again. "Shh, I'm just cleaning the cut," she said.

"Right," he muttered, wincing a bit but staying still. Cleaning a wound, that seemed important. Dirty wounds, he realised, weren't a good thing.

"So, what _is_ your name?" she asked again.

"I…" he trailed away, frowning a bit. He didn't know. Should he come up with a name right here and now? What sort of name? Or should he tell the truth?

As he thought about it, the woman gave him a thoughtful, oddly sad look. Then she turned to look at the two boys who were watching them. "Ed, Al," she said. "Weren't you playing at daddy's study?"

"Yes, but…" the boy, Ed, said hesitatingly. "We weren't making a mess or anything."

"I know. How about you go and play a little more?" she suggested. "Go on. I can clean our guest up without help," she said, smiling. "And I think he would be more at ease with little less audience, what do you say?"

The boys frowned, first at her and then at him. "Alright," they then said, and retreated with some reluctance. She waited until they could hear them going up the stairs, before putting the cloth down, and going back to close the kitchen door.

"Well then," she said, turning back and staring to peel a band-aid from its wrapping. "You can tell me your name, now. No need to be afraid, I'm not mad with you."

He frowned, uncertain. Why would she be mad with him? "I'm sorry," he said slowly, while she carefully placed the bandit on his forehead, over what he assumed was the cut that had been bleeding.

"It's okay, I swear," she laughed, patting his cheek. "He is so much older than I am, your father, so I understand completely. Of course he would've… I am a bit sad that he never _told_ me, but I understand, I swear. It's not your fault. Now, tell me."

"What?" he asked, now utterly baffled. "My father? Wait, do you know who I am?"

She paused at that, and looked at him. "But aren't you…" she trailed away, and put his face between her hands, staring at him intently. "Do you know who I am?"

He shook his head a little startled. Her hands were warm. A little wet and slightly calloused, but very warm. Surprisingly strong too. "I… I don't even know who _I_ am," he admitted awkwardly, not sure if he was supposed to pull back or not.

"You don't… but you look so much like him, I thought… But, how did you get here, why did you come here, then?" she asked confusedly, releasing his face.

"I, uh… I woke up in the field, not far form here," he explained quickly. "It was just few minutes ago. This house was the closest, so I came here, I thought… I wondered if anyone here knew who I was, because I… I can't remember," he admitted, and looked down, at his automail hand.

The woman eyed him with wide eyes for a moment, before her shocked expression turned thoughtful and she was quiet for a long while, resting her chin in her fingers and frowning slightly. Then she shook her head. "Let's see to your wounds," she said, and took the cloth again. "Give me your hand – the other one," she added with a laugh, when he almost held out his automail. Then she went about cleaning the knuckles, though she didn't bandage those, seeing that they had already stopped bleeding. "Do you have any other wounds?"

"I think I have a cut inside my mouth," he admitted, running his tongue over his teeth and tasting blood. "But that is probably it."

"Alright. Wait here, I'll get you a shirt and then we'll go out and take a look at the place where you woke up," she said determinately, and then went away from a moment while he stared after him with some confusion.

Things were moving fast now, and his mind couldn't quite keep up. His father, he wondered. The woman had thought she knew his father. He probably had a father, but he couldn't recall anything about the man. Why had she thought she knew him?

He couldn't come up with an answer to that, not before she returned, holding a folded white shirt in her hands. "Take that off," she said, waving at the ragged black shreds that remained of his previous shirt. "This will probably be a bit too big, but it will have to do. I doubt any of mine would fit you."

He nodded and tugged the black cloth off. She gave his torso a sad look, wincing in what he realised was sympathetic pain. Glancing down, he saw the extend of his scarring – it wasn't just his shoulder, but he had other scars too, here and there. His body had certainly gone through some tough ordeals. If only he could remember some of them.

She held out the shirt again, and he accepted it, unfolding it and tugging it on. It was too big, hanging on his shoulders loosely, the sleeves hanging below his fingertips. Frowning, he rolled them up until he had his hands free of the cloth. The result was a bit ridiculous, but at least he was wearing a whole shirt this time.

The woman smiled slightly at the sight of that, and then nodded. "Come on. Show me where you woke up."

He did, leading her out and to the field. The indent he had left behind to the grass was still there, and while he eyed it thoughtfully, the woman walked around the spot, looking for something in the ground. "Hm," she hummed, crouching down and pushing some of the grasses aside. "I don't see a circle here."

"A circle?" he asked curiously.

"Yes. I thought it might've been alchemy that brought you here. I've never heard of alchemy that could transport people, but then I am not that well versed in it, so maybe…" she considered it for a moment and then looked up at him. "Do you remember anything? Anything at all?"

He shrugged awkwardly. "Things," he said, looking around. "I remember normal things like grass and sky and such. Speaking, walking, knocking, what people are, automail, stuff like that. But that's about it."

"Nothing about yourself or where you come from? Nothing about how you ended up here?"

He shook his head, tugging his hands into the pockets of his pants, and then pausing to look at himself. Why had he done that? He had put his hands into his pockets – why? It felt comfortable, casual, common. Did he do it often? How strange.

There was something in his pocket, something hard and heavy and solid. It clinked against the metal fingers of his right hand.

"This is…" the woman trailed away and then stood up, looking at him. "Absolutely nothing?" she asked again, just to be sure.

"Not a thing. I just woke up here, that's… that's all," he said awkwardly, while closing his fingers around the thing and pulling it out curiously.

"Okay. Alright," she murmured, and folded her arms. She gave him a considering look, taking in his face, his automail arm, his trousers and boots, before frowning. "What is that?" she asked, looking at the thing he was holding and then coming forward.

"I don't know. It was in my pocket. It's…" he tugged at it, and realised that there was a chain, attaching the thing to his belt. "It's chained on me," he said, with some amazement. When she reached to touch it, he held it out for her.

The woman let out a small gasp, taking the metal item to her hands. "State Alchemist," she murmured, and looked up to him, her eyes a little wide now.

"A what?" he asked, curious.

"State Alchemist," she repeated, turning the thing – a watch, he realised – in her hands. "They are alchemists who serve in the Amestris military; they have watches like these as sign of their status. I've never seen one in real life, but I've seen pictures…" she tried to pry the watch open, frowning. "It's stuck," she murmured.

"Let me," he answered, taking the watch and then trying to open it. The lid seemed to be stuck, so he examined it for a moment before using the force of his automail fingers to pry it loose. "Jammed," he said, shrugging his shoulders and then holding the open watch out to her.

The woman blinked, and then bent down a bit, to peer at the watch more closely. "Don't forget, third, Oct, ten…" she blinked and looked up to him. The watch fell from her hands as she straightened up, looking at him more closely.

"Is it… important?" he asked confusedly, hauling the loosely hanging watch up by its chain, and looking at it. _Don't forget, 3rd. Oct. 10_ was scratched to the inside of the watch's silver lid, in ugly letters. He blinked at the words, tracing them with his flesh thumb, but they made no sense to him. "I wonder if I wrote it. If I did, I guess I did forget though," he muttered. "I wonder what it was, that I wasn't supposed to forget."

"It's…" the woman swallowed. "It's the fourteenth of May, nineteen o' four now."

"I… see," he answered, looking at the watch again. "Maybe it means the last century, and someone else wrote it?"

"The State Alchemists haven't been around that long," the woman said, swallowing again. "I… I need to think about this," she added, and looking away, pacing a bit in the grass in front of him. "Third of October, ten? But…" she paused suddenly, and looked at him, from top to toe. "You would be, what… fifteen, sixteen years old? That's fairly young for a State Alchemist, but then Al and Ed are only four and five, and they are already -"

Her eyes widened suddenly and she gasped, her eyes turning back towards the house. "In nineteen ten, they would've been ten and eleven…" she whispered, and then looked back at him, her eyes wide and her mouth hanging a bit open.

"Who would've been?" he asked confusedly, and when she didn't answer he closed the watch' lid and pushed it into his pocket. "You realised something, ma'am. What did you realise?" he asked.

"Your arm, show me – no, the other one," she demanded desperately, and once he had held out his left hand, she pushed the loose sleeve up and past his elbow, where she paused to stare at a small, fairly insignificant birthmark on his upper arm.

"Ma'am," he asked after a long moment of silence, as she seemed to choke on the air she was breathing. "Do you know me?"

She didn't seem to hear. "Of course," she muttered, more to herself than to him. "_O-of course_, your face, your hair… yours _eyes_! Oh… oh my dear, my…" she whispered, and suddenly let out a cry. "Your arm!" she said, reaching for the other one and running her hand over his cloth covered shoulder, where the automail connected. "Oh, dear god, what happened to your arm?"

"I don't know, I don't remember – and it's not just my arm, it's my leg too," he answered, pulling back from her touch, confused and little suspicious. "Do you know me? Do you know who I am?" he demanded.

"Your leg too?" she asked desperately with tears in her eyes, covering her mouth with her hands. She let out a sob, and then threw her arms around him, pulling him to her embrace. "My poor boy, my poor Edward. What happened to you?" she asked, hugging him close. "What happened to you? How did you end up like this?"

He stood frozen, too confused and too shocked to move, just letting her hug him as she sobbed against his shoulder. "Edward?" he then asked. "Is… is that my name?"

"Of course it's your name!" she answered, and then pulled back a bit, with tears streaking down her eyes. She wiped them away and drew a quick breath. "No, wait. Yes, of course, you don't remember. Oh, my goodness, how _did_ this happen?" she murmured, and then looked at him again. She sniffed and then steeled herself. "I think we best go back to the house and think this through. There is something going on here that I don't understand."

"Well, guess how I feel," he answered with some annoyance, to which she gave watery little laugh.

"Come," she said, taking his flesh hand into hers. "Let's go inside. I'll show you some things, photographs of your father – and you already saw…" she paused for a moment. "Oh dear," she murmured. "There is Ed too, of course. This is… this is _very_ strange," she murmured. "Oh, I wish I knew more about sciences!"

"Sciences has something to do with this?" he asked.

"Alchemy the only explanation,. There is him, and you, and that watch of yours – Na-State Alchemist? Oh, oh my…" she tailed away, looking a bit dizzy. She took a deep breath and swallowed – and then seemed able to compose herself. "Well, there is no helping it, and outdoors isn't a place to talk about this. Come on. Let's go inside."

He followed, having really no idea what else to do – and on top of that, she wouldn't release her hold on the fingers of his left had, which she was now clutching in her warm had. The woman – whose name he still didn't even _know _led him back inside the house and there to the kitchen, where she closed the door once more.

"Ma'am," he said, as she begun to pace, apparently trying to think. "Do you know what is going on here? Do you know who I am?"

"What? Yes, of course," She answered. "What I don't know is how. Oh how I wish Van was here, he would know…" she trailed away, clasping her hands together and falling quiet for a moment.

"Could you at least tell me who you are?" he asked a little desperately.

"Oh?" she asked, and then stopped to look at him. For a moment she looked startled, before swallowing. "Yes, yes of course. My name is Trisha Elric," she said and then frowned. "This will be quite difficult, seeing that you don't remember… Wait here for a moment."

"Where would I go?" he muttered after her, as she headed out of the kitchen. Sighing, he ran his hand over his face and up to his hair, where he paused. Curiously, he pulled a strand of hair forward, until he could see the colour. The strand was a bit short, but still long enough for him to make it out - and for some reason, it didn't surprise him at all to find that his hair was golden.

The woman, Trisha Elric, returned, carrying with her some items. "Here," she said, handing the topmost to him. It was a mirror, and with honest curiosity he took it, and looked at himself.

He had tanned skin, a youngish face - he was probably a teenager, fifteen or sixteen years old like she had said - and a band-aid on his forehead. His eyes, he found, deserved the shock Trisha had given them. They were wide, golden, and rather startling. And, he added to himself, quite a bit like young Ed's and Al's eyes were.

"This," she then said, holding out something else, "is my family. Myself, Ed and Al when they were a bit younger, and Van Hohenheim, Ed's and Al's father."

He accepted the photograph, looking at it curiously. It seemed like normal enough family portraits, though he didn't have much reference there to be sure. A man and a woman stood side by side - the woman, Trisha Elric when she was a little younger, was holding a young babe with a pacifier in her arms, while the bearded man held a slightly elder boy in his , except for the fact that the man in the picture was crying.

For a long moment, he wondered why the man was crying, when the woman and the boy the man was holding both seemed so happy. Shaking his head he let that slide and concentrated onto other things. Both the children had golden hair and eyes - Ed and Al when they were younger, obviously. The man was probably what Trisha wanted him to consider fully, though. He was the one from whom Ed and Al had inherited their colouring - Trisha was the only one in the picture, with dark hair and green eyes, everyone else were all golden.

He lowered the picture and took the mirror again, looking at himself. He would've fit that family portrait eerily well, with his hair and eyes. Better than Trisha, even.

"I take it that there aren't too many people around, with hair and eyes like these?" he asked slowly.

"Well, the hair... sure. The eyes however..." Trisha trailed away, taking the picture. "Van is the only one I ever saw with eyes like that, and then Ed and Al, of course." she let out a little laugh. "You nearly game me a heart attack, you know, when I first saw you. There are differences of course, but your hair, eyes, skin..."

He frowned. "You thought I was someone," he murmured, giving her a long look. "Then you thought something else. And now... Who do you think I am? This... Edward?"

"Yes," she said. "Edward," she said again and then, when he didn't understand, she added, "Ed is short for Edward."

"I... really don't follow that at all," he answered.

"Here, look at this," she answered, holding out another photograph, while taking the mirror. While he took the photograph and looked at it, she held up the mirror so that the photo and his own face were side by side.

The photograph was of the boy who had opened the door. Ed, he thought, frowning. Golden hair, golden eyes, and tanned skin - he knew that already. But...

As his eyes flicked between the photograph and the mirror, the woman stared at him with an odd sort of trembling smile. "And," she added, as if the photograph and the reflection had done all her talking for her. Which, he had to admit, they had. "And Ed has a birthmark on his left forearm," she said simply. "I know it well because it used to be bigger - it was surgically altered about a month after his birth, because the local doctor thought it might scar as he grew."

He said nothing, not entirely sure what he was supposed to say to that. He just lowered the photograph and looked at her, wondering what it meant. Both to him, and to her.

"Are you sure you remember nothing?" she asked.

"Absolutely sure," he said and tilted his head. "Am I supposed to... call you Mom?"

She let out a watery little laugh. "You're not _supposed_ to, but you can if you want to. Though," she stopped and frowned. "Though right now, we need to think about this. How is this possible? You're an alchemist, so... some sort of alchemy was probably involved. Alchemy that enables this sort of... sort of transit through time? I've never even heard of such thing."

"Transit through time?" he asked.

"You're Edward. But Edward is only five now," Trisha said. "You're ten years, or more, older than he is. And that watch - third of October, in the year ten. Which won't come around for another six years."

"Ah," he agreed. "There's that."

"And your arm and leg too..." she murmured, giving his right hand a sorrowful look before shaking her head. "You have come back from the future. It is perhaps the most outrageous thing I've ever heard, but I've heard enough of outrageous things to not dismiss it immediately. Some of the things Van told me... well, no matter."

"So, it's important, how I got here?" he asked, folding his arms, more to hide the right hand than for any other reason. "Do you want me to go the same way?"

"What? No! Well. I don't know - I don't want to kick you out, of course not. I just want to know what the reason you are here is," Trisha said quickly. "There must be a reason, right? And it must be very important, to make you do something like this. This isn't something anyone does lightly, after all. If it's so important then it would be better if we knew."

"But we don't," he said. "I don't remember, and there were no clues where I woke up. And the watch only mentioned time in the year ten, and if Edward is now five and the year is nineteen o' four - and I am about fifteen or sixteen, then I come from... nineteen fourteen. Or nineteen fifteen. At least four years after the watch."

She blinked at him. He shrugged slightly. "Just pointing out that we have no way of knowing. I am right, aren't I? Not unless I remember, or something else turns up, and I don't think I'll remember."

"Are you sure?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Everything else came to me almost instantly, but not that, nothing about myself. Or the future, for that matter," he said, and shrugged again. "It might come later, but it's not coming now, and I have no idea how to make it. So that's that."

Trisha eyed him for a moment, and then let out a helpless laugh, hugging him. "You definitely are Edward," she said, kissing his forehead while he blinked confusedly at her chin and neck. "And you are probably right."

"Hm," he answered noncommittally. "Where does that leave us?"

"I have no idea," she answered, with another laugh. "But my head is reeling, and I think we need another set of options and opinions," she said, and then glanced at his shoulder, the right one. "And... and I would like to find more about what might've happened to you, to make you end up with so much automail. Or if I can't learn the _why_ then at least the _when_."

"Okay. How do we do that?" he asked.

"Well, I just happen to know the best automail engineer in the region," Trisha said, smiling brightly. "I think she wouldn't mind too much if we popped by her house." Then, turning away from him, she raised her voice. "Ed! Al! We're going to visit Winry and Granny Pinako!

Some ten minutes later and after some complaining from the kids, they were heading away from the white house with red rooftop, and down the road. "Our guest needs to have his automail checked," Trisha was explaining to Al and Ed. "And there is something I want to talk about with Pinako. You two can play with Winry and Den in the mean while."

"Why couldn't we just stay home?" Ed asked while crossing his fingers behind his neck and looking somewhat grumpy. "I was just about to figure that circle."

"You will have more time later," Trisha promised. "Maybe Winry can help you?"

"Hmph!"

The other kid, Al, let out a small laugh. "We showed alchemy to Winry once. She… got a bit spooked," he admitted.

The eldest male of the group glanced at the two younger ones. Alchemy. Trisha had said it too, but she had only mentioned in passing and he hadn't been able to hold onto the word. Now, though, now it stuck a little while, and having it mentioned as something that could be shown, and as something that had something to with circles…

He knew what alchemy was. Not with much detail or definition, but he knew _alchemy_ as a general concept. The art of deconstruction and reconstruction. No, that wasn't right. Deconstruction and reconstruction were part of it, but not all of it. Disassembly and reassembly were more closer to the truth, at any case, but disassembly wasn't actually necessary – just, without it, it was a bit more difficult? Alchemy could be done with raw materials that didn't _need_ disassembling. It was just more… refined? No, the details were different. He wasn't entire sure.

There was more to it, so, so much more, but… just the two words, _alchemy_ and _circle,_ weren't enough to nudge the knowledge into foreword. He needed more reference points. Deconstruction and reconstruction brought forth their own definitions; deconstruction, the disassembly of molecular structure of a object, liquid, or some other material element, sometimes even the break down of the basic atomic structure, into it's most basic components; reconstruction, the re-assembly of those components into their new form.

But there was more, so much more, and he almost could feel it, taste it…

He spent so long deep in thought, trying to desperately hold onto the thin thread of knowledge that was so slowly loosening itself inside his head, that they reached their destination without him noticing. "We're here," Trisha finally brought him out of his thoughts with a gentle touch at his left shoulder, and he looked up.

They were in front of a house with a large porch and a balcony in the second floor. While he looked up at the house and then to the side of the porch, where a wooden sign proclaimed, _AUTOMAIL ROCKBELL, _Trisha's two sons rushed up the stairs, to knock at the doors.

"Ed, Al, don't be so hasty!" Trisha said, following them with exasperated look, while from inside the house barking erupted. Curious, he followed the three of them, and saw how the door was opened by a rather short old woman with her hair tied up to a high bun.

"I knew I recognized that knocking. Ed, Al, don't you know you're not supposed to bang the doors? A simple knocking is more than enough, I'm not deaf yet," the old woman snapped, and then motioned inside. "Winry is in her room, fiddling with piece of mail."

"Sorry, Granny, thanks, Granny," they said, as they rushed past her and into the house, calling loudly for, "Winry!"

"I'm sorry, Pinako," Trisha laughed while stepping forward. "I guess they're being a bit energetic this morning – and to think just few minutes ago they were complaining about how they would've preferred to stay at home…"

"It's alright. It's good for little brats to be lively, and it'll do some good for Winry, to have them distract her. She's been a bit down again," the old woman said, and then noticed him. She stopped, stared, and then scowled, letting out a curse.

"Hohenheim," she muttered. "That… that… that _Hohenheim!_ I will punch his nose in the next time I see him!"

"No, Pinako, that's not… well, in a way…" Trisha trailed away, glancing between him and the old woman, and then letting out a little laugh that sounded bewildered more than amused. "Let's go inside, and I will explain. This is not quite what it seems."

"Oh? He could've at least told us – told me, I'm his oldest friend! Did he tell you? I bet he didn't," the old woman, Pinako, snapped, and then pointed a finger at him. "You, brat, what's your name? Where is your father? I have a piece of my mind I would like to give him – served on my knuckles!"

"Pinako," Trisha laughed, and this time it was actually amusement in her voice. "It's not quite like that. Let's go inside and I'll tell you. I need your help figuring this out at any rate – but it is not what you think, trust me."

"Hmph. Well, tell me what it is then," the old woman said, and waved Trisha and the confused youth inside. "Come on, I have some coffee on. I think we all need a cup."

He was ushered into yet another kitchen, this one bigger than the one where Trisha had tried and failed to figure things out with him. He was sat down once more, though the confusing conversation didn't resume until after Pinako had taken out some cups and plates and served a decisively bitter dark brew that he decided instantly he didn't much care for. Even with milk or sugar. Or maybe _especially_ with milk.

"Well then, tell me," Pinako demanded, and Trisha did. It was more or less complete recounting of his life as far as he could remember it, him waking up on the grass, going to Trisha's house, her jumping into conclusions which he still didn't follow entirely, and then the realisation that he and the boy Ed were the same, to a point.

"You can't expect me to believe this," Pinako said, looking between Trisha and him and frowning. "I've heard that alchemy can do some amazing things, but this? It's ridiculous."

"Honestly, when I saw him, I thought it too," Trisha laughed. "He looks so much like Van, that I think everyone who's seen the both of them will automatically assume. Only my husband has those eyes, him and his children, after all. However, there is this watch, and the fact that he," she nodded at him, "has more in common with Edward, than with Van. He even has Edward's birthmarks."

Pinako narrowed her eyes and then shook her head. "No, I don't buy it. The watch can be just him making mental about something that _will_ happen in year ten, rather than something that already happened. And lot of people have birthmarks, some of them even have them in the same places."

"Not the sort that have been surgically altered," Trisha said, taking his left hand, pushing the sleeve past his elbow, and pointing the birthmark on his forearm, where very faint white line ran slightly past the small darker patch of skin. "Edward's birthmark was altered just little after he was born. It wasn't much of an operation, but it did leave a distinctive marks. The hair, the eyes, the skin, the birthmark in the exact same spot, altered in the exact same way. Isn't that stretching the coincidence a little far?"

Pinako eyed the mark for a while, before harrumphing and jumping down from her chair. She walked into a cabinet near by, took out a pipe and put some tobacco in. "Have you ever heard of alchemy like this from Hohenheim?"

"Not really, but I didn't interfere with his studies much," Trisha admitted. "But the thing's I've heard from him… well, I wouldn't put it past alchemy. It can do some incredible things. Horrible fantastic things."

"True," the old woman muttered, lighting the tobacco with a match and then drawing a breath. She was quiet for a while, looking between Trisha and him before asking, "And you remember nothing?"

"I remember things. General concepts. Sky, grass, automail. Bit of alchemy, now that it's been mentioned," he answered with a shrug. "But that is about it."

"Nothing about yourself? Where you were born, your mother's name, where you grew up, where you studied, how did you get that watch… the automail? Do you remember how or why you got those?" Pinako asked, and it was just the opening of a long line of questions, each one of them sharper. His own height, his weight, his birth date, his best friend, his family members, anything he had done, alchemy he might've performed, places he might've seen, people he might've met. Any general events, news he might've listened in the radio, and since he was apparently in military, his superior officer, his recruiter, his State Alchemist examination, his missions and assignments, his research…

"Nothing," he said, after thinking about each question hard.

"Not even your own name?" Pinako asked, her eyes narrowing even more. "Is it Edward?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. It might be."

"Hmm…" she answered, looking extremely displeased, before inhaling through the pipe again and coming forward. "Hold out your arm – no, the right one," she added sharply, when, after having been told to do it so many times by Trisha, he had started to hold out the left, flesh one. She tugged the sleeve up with one hand, and eyed the metal fingers, turning the palm and tugging at his thumb to see into the joints, before rapping her knuckles against the long plates of inner arm, just next to his wrist and then all the way to the crook of his elbow.

"Well, there is something we can learn. Any automail engineer worth their mettle will sign their work, and make a note of every maintenance they might've made," she said. "We'll take a look at the long plates and see if there's anything there, that might enlighten us. Probably we'll just find that he got his automail done inRushValleya year ago, or something."

"Yes, let's take a look. That was part of the reason why I came here – I want to know how long he has had the automail."

"This particular hand isn't very old, less than year," Pinako said, knocking at the panels of metal again. "It's been through a wringer though, with these scratches. I probably will have to do some maintenance myself, I wouldn't be surprised to find half of the wires loose. Finish your coffees and we'll have a look."

Soon after Pinako led him and Trisha to another room, this one in the back with a bed, fabric curtains of metal frames and lot of mechanical instruments strung about. It looked like mix between a engineer's workshop and a hospital ward, he thought, and then felt a spark of satisfaction, having remembered engineers, workshops and hospitals all on his own.

Then he was sat down, and after putting her pipe away, Pinako got to work. With deft fingers that held a screwdriver like a virtuoso, she unscrewed the bolts holding the arm intact, and took of the covering plates to reveal the wiring inside. While he peered at his arm curiously, fascinated by the wiring and the long metallic tubes which probably were the bones of his arm, Pinako looked at the plates themselves.

"Ah, here, maker's signature," she muttered, taking a magnifying glass and then taking the plate to a near by table lamp, to take a closer look. For a long, long while she said nothing, just read whatever had been inscribed to the inside of the metal plate, without making a sound.

"Does it hurt at all?" Trisha asked worriedly, looking at the naked insides of the automail arm.

"No, I don't feel a thing," he said honestly, lifting the arm a bit and looking _through_ it. "It's a bit weird, is all, but it doesn't feel much different. A little lighter, maybe."

"How about the ports? Do they hurt?"

"No. I can definitely _feel_ the automail there, it feels… well, it feels like it is there, it feels heavy, and like it's pulling the skin and the muscles a bit, but that's all," he said, lowering his hand and then looking at Pinako, who was looking at him with a complicated expression. "Well?" he asked, and Trisha turned to look at the old woman as well.

"Well," she agreed, and folded her arms. "Well, this type of automail was first created in year nineteen eleven, the prototype that is. Yours is the third version of the type," she added. "It was compiled in nineteen fourteen and has been serviced twice since then."

"So it _is_ from the future," Trisha said, letting out a sound which was part triumph and part indecision.

"Yes. And Winry was the one who created, re-created and serviced it," Pinako agreed reluctantly. "Though I probably had a hand in creating the prototype." Shaking her head, she came closer and sat to a bench beside the one where he sat, his automail resting on the armrest. "Let's have a closer look," the old woman muttered. "Off with the shirt, I want to see the port."

"But, if it was first created in nineteen eleven, then…" Trisha murmured. "H-he would've been twelve when…"

"Probably eleven," Pinako said, prodding at the scar tissue around the automail before taking out the screwdriver again, and starting to loosen the casing around his shoulder. "I'd say this is about six years old. He probably had a practice automail before he got the one he's had since then – physical therapy is usually done with lighter, simpler models than the one people end up using."

"Eleven," Trisha swallowed. "S-so, that would be nineteen ten, right? A-and what ever the watch reminds him, it's…"

"It's probably whatever lost him his arm in the first place, yes, but let's not jump into conclusions yet," Pinako said. "There are things I might still learn from this automail. You can tell a lot about a person by knowing what sort of tools he needs, you know."

While she peered and prodded at his arm, loosening bolts and tightening wires, he watched her work, as curious as she was to see how the arm was put together. He got more than an eyeful, when she completely detached the arm from the elbow, muttering something about dirt in the bearing. She replaced a circular type of device, trying different sizes before fitting it into the detached piece of arm, working a bit to fit it, and then re-attaching the arm again, connecting the wiring and the metal bars and joints until it felt as solid as before, even it is skeletal, shell-less state.

"Let's have a look at the leg then," she muttered, and he was asked to remove his boots and pants so that she could repeat the process on his left leg. She didn't detach it – apparently his trousers had protected the mechanisms from getting dirty – but she did strip it too from it's casing, and then spent a long long time, just exploring the mechanics of the leg.

"Well?" Trisha asked nervously. "What does it look like?"

"It's quite well made. Not exactly a masterpiece, but beyond practical. The leg is the handiwork of Winry and myself, as well," Pinako said, while starting to put the plates back on. "The joints are in style I haven't seen before, they give him a sort of mobility not many types if automail would permit. I'd say that they're about ninety four percent as agile as his original limbs were, though much, much stronger," she said, knocking her knuckles against his steel. "The mobility, though, it's something very rare sort of people need."

"Yes?" Trisha asked breathlessly.

"I'd say these are the automails specifically engineered for a physical fighter," Pinako proclaimed, folding her arms. "Martial artist, even. You don't normally need the sort of rotation of ankle this automail has, or individual toes – and there is unusual degree of bend between the heel and the ball of the foot. Usually it's only few degrees if even that, with the toes working more to balance walking but this has about twenty percent as much the highest level of instep bent I've ever seen. Also, the leg rotates between the knee and the ankle. That's fairly rare."

"Ma-martial artist…" Trisha muttered, her eyes wide as she looked at him, at the automail.

"Well, it makes sense, seeing that he's in the military. State Alchemist even," Pinako muttered, looking at him darkly. "But why is he here?"

"He doesn't know, but while he is here, he would rather prefer it if people did not talk of him like he wasn't present," he answered with a slight frown.

Pinako blinked and then snorted at him. "Continue talking in third person, brat, and it's all everyone will ever do."

Trisha wrung her hands slightly, looking at him. Then she clasped her hands into fists, like making a decision. "Well," she said slowly. "You _are_ here now. No matter how or why you got here, you _are_ here and that… that is that."

"True," Pinako agreed. "And I suppose the real question is what will we do about it?"

He frowned. "Do about it?" He asked and looked between them. Trisha and Pinako were both frowning worriedly, nervously. "Do you want me to leave?" he asked calmly, though he was a bit troubled by the concept. "I don't know where I would go, but I'll go if you want me to. Well, so as long as Pinako will reassemble my arm," he added, waving the still naked frame of his automail arm. He could probably manage it, find another place, or just watch things around him until he remembered more…

"No, of course we don't want you to leave," Trisha assured, stepping forward and touching his flesh shoulder, squeezing it. "You're my son, whether you remember it or not, and you're always welcome in my house. Regardless of the circumstances."

"But there are some things we need to think about," Pinako added. "Time travel isn't something we ought to announce to the world. I imagine the state would snatch you up, brat, and interrogate the life out of you if they ever heard, not to mention about the private alchemists of this country. It would be the biggest thing since human transmutation, and that has been the biggest thing for god only knows how long."

"So, what should we do?" Trisha asked, leaning against the chair like trying to shield him from the world – or to seek support him. It was hard to tell which it was.

"Well, for one I don't thing I don't think we can tell anyone that he is, technically, Edward Elric," Pinako said, shaking her head. "That would rise too many eyebrows." She was quiet for a moment, thinking about it. "I think the safest way to go would be to follow up our original assumptions."

Trisha frowned a little at that, looking at him and then at the old woman, looking indecisive.

"Actually, we probably wouldn't have to do much," Pinako said. "Give him a new name, something else than Edward, and definitely not Elric. Call him Van Hohenheim the Second if nothing else comes to mind. And then let people draw their own conclusions. Seeing that _we_ did it too, and instantly at that…"

"No, not Hohenheim," Trisha murmured, folding her own arms thoughtfully, in odd imitation of Pinako. "The reason why we never got officially married is because he didn't want his children to have his name. There are some people who know it, and he wanted Edward and Alphonse to be saved from their… interests."

"Well, not Hohenheim, then," Pinako shrugged. "But you need to come up with something."

He looked between the two of them. "So," he said slowly. "I _am_ Edward Elric, Trisha's son, from the future?" he asked, just to be sure that everyone had agreed with that, even if he himself still wasn't entirely sure.

"Right now, it seems the only logical conclusion, though I for one would love to know how or why you're here, but there's no helping that," Pinako muttered darkly. "And of course, even if you _are_ Edward, you can't be _known_ as Edward, it would cause too much trouble for you."

"And so you're going to come up with another name for me, and that will be enough to stop that trouble from happening?" he verified.

"Easily," Pinako said, giving him a sly sort of look. "People will assume what we did – that you're Hohenheim's son. They just won't know that you're Edward, specifically, just that you're Hohenheim's kid from another woman, hid who came, for a reason or another, to live with Hohenheim's new family. Probably best we never explain that reason, too. Family business, all private, that should be enough to hush things. And people will imagine what they will."

Trisha, who apparently had been thinking about a name, clapped her hands together and smiled. "How about Nicolas?" she asked and smiled. "It was one of the names Hoheheim and I considered for Edward, but decided not to use."

"Well?" Pinako asked. "How do you like it, Nicolas?"

He eyed them thoughtfully and then shrugged. To have a name sounded nice, even if it didn't come with a personal history, real one at any rate. He didn't really have any preferences, though he hadn't for some reason liked the idea of being Edward, not when there already was one Edward there already. Nicolas, so as long as there was no other Nicolases around, was better. "I suppose it will do."

There was a moment of silence after that was decided, which newly named Nicolas was one to break. "So," he started. "Now what?"

"Now I close your arm," Pinako said, glancing at Trisha. "After that, I imagine you want him to live with you?"

"Yes," Trisha agreed, looking the automail adorned youth from top to toe. "You are an alchemist, no matter whatever else you may be. Maybe your father's study will help you remember things."

"My… father's?" he asked quietly, surprised.

"Edward or Nicolas, Van Hohenheim is still your father," Pinako said. "And Trisha is your mother, though as Nicolas you would, in eyes of everyone but us, have another one. Probably better you get used to that right now. Speaking of which," she added, looking at Trisha. "How do you intend to introduce him to Ed and Al?"

Trisha hesitated and then smiled a little sadly. "Ed and Al are wise children. I will do it carefully, but I've no doubt they will understand," she murmured. "Though, we cannot tell them the truth, can we?"

The old woman hummed in agreement. "If Nicolas will stay around, the similarities between him and Ed might become more obvious. The automail and the long hair helps there, but once Ed grows a bit, you can't gloss over the similarities of their facial features," Pinako murmured, giving the youth a considering look. "Maybe eyeglasses," she murmured. "Eyeglasses change a person's face quite a bit."

"We'll think about that later," Trisha decided. "Right now, though, I think the introductions are more important." She considered it for a moment and then smiled. "Well, there is time. Let Ed and Al play with Winry for a while – we'll talk it over later, once we go home. Things like this, family things, ought to be talked in private.

Pinako nodded, taking the plates of the youth's shoulder, and going about reattaching them. He watched her do it, while giving sideways glances at Trisha, who seemed deep in thought, planning the introduction of him to her children, no doubt.

"Is this really alright?" he asked. He had no objections – he had no other places to be, no other ideas, no obligations and, right now, no real opinions about the matter. It, as strange as the whole thing was, seemed as good idea as any. But still… it seemed a bit abrupt and sudden, and all of sudden he wasn't entirely sure he wasn't intruding upon her and her family's life.

"If course," Trisha said, and smiled brightly. "Who knows, it might even be good for all of us. Ever since Van left to travel… Well, we could use a strong pair of arms around the house – and Ed and Al could use a… distraction, at times. As could I."

"I'll… try not to be a bother," he said quietly, not sure what else to say.

"I'm sure you won't be," she said, and smiled. "However you came here, and whatever the reason… it doesn't really matter. And it doesn't matter if you remember me or not. You are my child now and forever, Edward – Nicolas. So…" she let out a small laugh. "Welcome to the family. Welcome back home."

His eyes widened a bit at that, and blushing slightly he turned his eyes away. "T-thank you," he said awkwardly. "It's… it's good to be back. It's good to be home."

And, he realised with some surprise, it really was.

"Hm. Well, that's good," Pinako murmured, while screwing one of the plates back on. "But what about a last name? If it's not Hohenheim and it can't be Elric, obviously, then…" she glanced between the youth and Trisha. "You probably need to come up with a sort of name people can't easily check – nothing, that they can backtrack. There is no place _'Nicolas'_ comes from, so giving him ties, even accidental ones, to some place or some poor family… well, that sort of thing can backfire on you."

"Yes, that would be bad," Trisha agreed, nodding. "Something very common then? Or something so obscure that no one has it." She frowned for a moment, before looking at the youth. "I don't suppose you would have any preferences?"

"How could I? I don't remember anything. Except alchemy," he answered, running the fingers of his left hand over his forehead, and then frowning.

He could remember a bit more of it now.

Alchemy. Deconstruction and reconstruction – equivalent exchange, transfer of energies through the use of circles and symbols, of careful mathematical and chemical equations. Understanding over the structure of the materials, of the energies, of the world and the universe, and of one's self. Energy, and it's application in transmutation.

All of it, he thought slowly, not entirely sure where the thought was coming from but feeling it's correctness in the same way he had known what sky and trees were. All of it was in the end one and the same. Circle, energy, materials, even the alchemist – all one and the same. Immortality in shape of a never ending transfer of power, from one form to another, forever.

There was a symbol for that.

"I got it," he said, as the symbol came to his mind. A cross and a snake wrapped around it – a crown over the cross, and wings at the crown's each side. The symbol for _fixing of the volatile_, and _balancing the difference_. Evening out the materials into perfect harmony, the philosophy of which was multi levelled and twisted - and clear. Because all was one and one was all, so in the end there could always be harmony, no matter how impossible it seemed or how hard it could be to achieve.

He figured that the way he was, a stranger in this land and time, a intruder, without his memories, without _himself_ and without any idea why or how or for what reason he was where he was… he probably could use that almost impossible harmony.

"Yes?" Trisha asked, looking at him curiously.

"Flamel," he said, and looked up. "My name is Nicolas Flamel."

xx

AN; This is a rewrite of a idea I had few years back, but which died a tragic death in my hands. I have new ideas this time, so here we are. Also, this has gone through a whole lot of plot changes, for example, this starts a whole lot earlier than the original version, _Disorientation_, which started around year 1910 in the FMA verse, and this one starts around 1904. Plus the fact that some people know who Nicolas is, and all...

Also, Nicolas Flamel has nothing to do with Harry Potter, JKR did not invent him.

Fair warning; this might end up having a slash pairing for Nicolas. I dunno yet. I will know once the story gets that far. If it does.

My apologies for possible grammar errors. If this has words randomly glued together, its ffnets fault, it does it own lovely editing.


	2. Trial at Acceptance

Warnings; Spoilers, time travel, amnesia, death of character, etc. FMA manga and Brotherhood based, has nothing what so ever to do with 2003 anime. Might have pairings,** might have slash**, don't know yet. **Reuploaded to see if ffnet would stop being annoying**

**Disorient  
****Chapter 2  
Trial at Acceptance **

Once they got home, Trisha went about the introductions rather slyly. Instead of simply springing it out, she had Ed and Al - and newly named Nicolas, who felt awkward and useless just standing there, doing nothing - clean Van Hohenheim's study, so that they could see the floor underneath the books. Then they brought a spare mattress in, with pillow and comforter, and made a bed there, on the study floor.

"He is staying here?" Edward asked after the bed was ready, looking between Nicolas and Trisha.

"Yes, he is," Trisha nodded with a smile, sitting down on the mattress on the floor, and then patting at her sides. "Come here, Al and Ed. I have something to tell you."

While Nicolas explored the study, reading the backs of the rows upon rows of books in the shelves, she explained that Nicolas Flamel, who was a relative of their father's, would be staying with them until unforeseeable future. It didn't mean that the boys couldn't play in the study or work with alchemy, of course not, but they would have to make amends for Nicolas when ever he was sleeping and not just barge in whenever they felt like it.

All in all, it was fairly well put, Nicolas thought. _Your father's relative_ had a less hurtful ring to it, than _the older brother you never knew anything about._

"There is something else too," Trisha continued. "Nicolas has had an accident recently, so he doesn't remember everything. So don't bother him too much, alright?"

"Fine, but why is he here?" Edward demanded to know, folding his arms and staring up at Nicolas. "Don't he have any other place to go?"

"No. He doesn't," Trisha said, hugging the boy by the shoulders and looking up at Nicolas, who had pried a book from the shelf and was eyeing the cover. It seemed familiar. He had an odd feeling that he had read it, once.

"I hope the three of you can get along together," Trisha said, giving the eldest male a pointed look, making him close the book he had been about to open guiltily.

"Yes," he agreed awkwardly, and then sat down to the floor, to get to the same eye level as the boys. "Um. Trisha said you do a bit of alchemy?" he then asked, figuring that they probably could use some common ground here. "I know a bit too, so maybe we can work on that together."

The boys eyed him and then exchanged looks before Alphonse smiled. "Did father teach you?" he asked, while Edward scowled.

"I... don't know," Nicolas admitted, and shrugged. "I don't remember, really."

"Why not?" Ed asked sharply,

"Because of his accident, dear," Trisha explained to him kindly with a smile. "That sort of things are the type of things he's forgotten."

"Oh. So it's like am... amnesia," Edward said, folding his arms and giving Nicolas a considering look, before glancing up at the band-aid on the elder boy's forehead. "I read about it in one of dad's books. Did you knock your head?"

"I might've," Nicolas agreed.

"Ah. Alright then," Ed nodded and looked at his younger brother, who had a thoughtful look about his face. "I suppose we can help him look into alchemy and stuff, right Al?"

"Yes," the younger boy said, and smiled brightly. "Welcome to our home, Nicolas!" he then said.

Nicolas straightened his back a bit with surprise, not having been expecting such an open welcome. Then he bent his head down in a bow. "Thank you. I hope we can get along together," he said, and lifted his head, glancing at Trisha to make sure it was alright.

She was smiling as brightly as Alphonse was. "Alright," she said, and clapped her hands together. "How about we go wash our hands and then make ourselves something to eat? It's about dinner time."

Nicolas and the two boys soon followed her out of the study and into the kitchen, where they helped her wash the vegetables, the boys chopping them to bits while Nicolas took a knife and at her guidance started peeling some potatoes for a soup she intended to make. It was apparently something that happened in the house often, seeing that Ed and Al went about the work not just without complaint, but happily, both looking up to their mother after each task to see how they had done, and then preening under her praise for jobs well done.

It seemed nice, Nicolas thought watching them. It was a pity he couldn't remember it, from Edward's perspective.

"So, you know alchemy?" Alphonse asked, once their respective tasks were almost complete and they went about setting the table while Trisha took over the actual cooking portion of the work. "Are you an alchemist? What sort of alchemy can you do?"

"I think I am. I remember more about alchemy than about anything else," Nicolas said, while setting the heavy plates down, Ed taking care of the glasses and Al putting spoons on each plate. "I remember the basic philosophy. Equivalent exchange and the bones of all transmutation."

"Comprehension, deconstruction and reconstruction," Ed said from the other side of the table. "We can do it a bit - there is a book in dad's study, the _Introduction to Alchemy_. We've been trying out the practice circles."

"We can make small figurines. Nothing too difficult, just... ducks and such," Al said, and then he and Ed shared a mischievous grin. "We've been working on something else, though."

"Oh, what is that?" Trisha asked curiously.

"It's a secret!" the boys said together. "We'll show it to you if we can figure it out," Alphonse added.

"Alright," the woman laughed.

The food was wonderful, though Nicolas couldn't tell if it was because the vegetable stew was the _first_ food he could remember ever eating, or if Trisha was honestly a great cook. He enjoyed it regardless, and found to his surprise that, as soon as they had helped Trisha clear the table and start with washing the dishes, Ed and Al wanted to go to the study to work a little more - and they wanted _him_ to come with them.

"We'll show you something!" Edward said excitedly, and then bemused Nicolas was dragged back to the study, where the boys hurriedly went through the recently rearranged book shelves for the book, _Introduction to Alchemy_.

"Here. We can do this," they said pointing at a simple array of two circles, the inner most was overlapped by a square, and had another square inside it.

"Freeform transmutation?" Nicolas asked, as he and the boys sat down to look at the book. Circle to conduit the power, the larger square to distribute it and multiply it, overlapping circle to fracture the power flow, to enable the transmutation of matter through the division of power – deconstruction – and the inside square to then direct it and reassemble the matter – reconstruction. "It takes whatever the circle is drawn in, and enables the reshaping of it," he murmured.

"Yes!" Ed and Al agreed. "It as the first one we managed," Al added proudly.

"Can you do more?" Nicolas asked curiously, eager to see and learn more.

"Well," the boys exchanged a glance, and then turned the pages. "We've been trying this," they said, and pointed.

"Ah, I see," Nicolas said, examining the array. This one was composed of two circles, one inside another, which were both overlapped by a large triangle, with smaller one inside the smaller circle, intersecting the sides of the bigger triangle. The power flow of this one was much more complicated, going outside the circle and back inside, fracturing several times before coming back. This one did nothing to the material it was on, but had to have its material above it – and nothing of the material was actually changed, only the shape of it – and the overall shape remained the same.

"It's another practice circle," Ed explained. "It says in the book that if you can manage this, then eventually you can fix broken things to their original shapes."

"Yes, it would do that," Nicolas agreed. Triangle was form fitted, the equilateral especially so. The power flow in them was tighter and more precise – squares were good for free-form shaping, but triangles used a base form and didn't exactly alter _that_. So, triangle based array was the best for transmutations that put things back together, rather than changed them.

"What kind of transmutation are you thinking of trying with this?" he asked curiously.

"Well, the book suggests ripping a piece of paper apart and trying to put it together again, but we can do that already. So we thought of something else," Alphonse said, smiling excitedly.

"It's not supposed to alter the original matter, but change its shape. So, if you have a thing that's broken, this can put it together, without adding or taking," Edward said, folding his arms. "So, we were thinking that it could be used to make one thing into something else, while keeping the overall shape."

"So, we thought, it could turn sheet of paper into folded sheet of paper," Alphonse added, grinning at Edward who grinned back. "Mom taught us to make paper cranes week ago, so we thought… if you can do it by hand, you should be able to do with alchemy."

Nicolas glanced at them, then at the array. "That's… pretty smart," he said. Ingenious even. It wasn't exactly fixing something, putting together what was broken in its original shape, but it was similar enough for the array to work. "It depends a lot on your own guidance, though," he added, pointing at the circle. "There are no guiding runes, so you need to do the re-shaping mostly by yourself."

"Yeah, that's where we're stuck," Ed said. "We can fold a paper with this, but crane is a bit harder. But we're getting there."

Nicolas nodded, looking at Edward and then Alphonse. He didn't need to remember much to realise how smart these two were. They were four and five, and yet not only could they already _read_, but they could understand the basics of alchemy, which even at its simplest seemed complicated, but they could also perform it. That, he knew now, took really detailed understanding over power flows and the material.

And if Edward could do this, at age of five… then what did he know at age of sixteen? Just how much had Nicolas forgotten?

"Could you do it?" Edward asked then, looking up to him. "Could you use this to make a paper crane?"

"Well… I think I would have to know how a paper crane is made first," Nicolas said, scratching at the edge of the band aid on his forehead. He had a vague idea about what it _was_ but… "And I think that it's better you keep on trying it yourself. The theory is solid, so it should work – and wouldn't it be ruining it for you, if _I_ tried it?"

The boys blinked at him, and he shrugged. "It's something you've been working on for a while, right?" he said, and stood up. "Having answers handed to you isn't nearly as satisfying as coming up with them yourself. I know that much," he said – and it was. Remembering alchemy was much better, than it would've been if someone had sat down and explained it to him. It felt… more real that way.

"I guess that's about right," Alphonse murmured, folding his arms and looking at the circle. "And I think we're getting close too, aren't we brother?"

"Definitely!" Edward nodded and they shared a grin.

Nicolas nodded absently, and looked at the bookshelves. "You work on that," he said, reaching and selecting a book on random. _Celestial Mechanics,_ the title said. "I think I'll… read for a while." It seemed like a good place to start.

x

He was still reading, sitting on the mattress surrounded by books, when Trisha came looking for Edward and Alphonse – both whom had been defeated by the hour, and were dosing off at the other end, with papers strung about them after several attempts of transmuting crane. The woman looked at them with some surprise, while Nicolas glanced about with a guilty expression – the study had became almost as messy as it had been before they had set the bed.

"Well, it seems the three of you are getting along," Trisha finally laughed, keeping her tone quiet so that she wouldn't wake Ed and Al. Nicolas, wincing a bit, closed the book about the history of Alchemy in Amestris he had been reading.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realise how much time had passed," he said, putting the book down. "I got a bit… carried away," he added, noticing that the piles of books at his each side had grown fairly high. "I probably should've sent Ed and Al to bed, but…"

"It's alright. This is how they end up most evenings – at least this time, they had soft place to doze off on," the woman said, while crouching by Alphonse and carefully wiggling her arms beneath the boy, to lift him up. "Could you take Edward? It's better that we put them to their own beds."

"Yes, of course," Nicolas agreed, and went to pick Edward up. The boy grunted in his sleep and peeked on eye sleepily open, before closing it again with a sigh. For a moment the elder male was struck by the oddest notion that he was, in a sense, holding himself. A different version of himself, but still…

"Um," he said, deciding not to think about that too closely while glancing at Trisha. "Lead the way?"

She chuckled and did so. They carried the boys to a room just two doors down from the study, where Trisha settled Alphonse to one kid-sized bed, and Nicolas laid Edward down on the other. After pulling the comforters over the boys, and kissing them good night, Trisha led Nicolas out again, and pulled the door almost shut behind them.

"Did you learn anything from those books you read?" she asked, as they returned to the study where Nicolas guiltily begun putting the books back to where he had found them.

"I remember more alchemy," he answered. "Not, in sense of having performed it or remembering when I learned it, but the thing itself… I know it, and I know I can do it."

"Anything about how you could've come back in time?" she asked, looking at a mangled piece of paper the boys had transmuted no doubt just before falling asleep and smiling amusedly.

"Ah. No. I haven't encountered a single word about time, yet. Not outside the transition times of circle or array activation, the matter deconstruction and the reconstruction," he admitted and then frowned. "I'm not sure if there are alchemical studies ever performed on time." There had been no references, and he had remembered nothing about it, not even the simplest, most basic notion, so…

"Well," Trisha said and threw the piece of paper into trash. "I suppose it was too much to hope that we'd find out the truth instantly."

"I suppose so," Nicolas agreed and glanced at her. "Is it okay that I use this study?" he then asked. "It belongs to your husband, right?"

"And your father," Trisha said pointedly and then smiled. "It's alright. Van hasn't… well, he hasn't been here in a while. And I'm sure he wouldn't mind, even if he was," she added, and looked around. "I think you should learn as much as you can. Use it however long you like."

"Alright, I will. Thank you," Nicolas said, and then gave her a thoughtful look. "There's a…" he trailed away, trying to put the thought together. "Well, there's the matter of equivalent exchange. Shouldn't I be paying you for this, somehow? I get to stay here, eat at your table, use this study, without any compensation…"

Trisha laughed and then came closer, touching his shoulder and squeezing it. "Nicolas," she said firmly. "There is no such thing needed. This is your home now and for however long it takes. You don't need to pay your home." Then she smiled. "And you're keeping an eye on Alphonse and Edward for me too – and you understand what they are trying too, don't you?"

"Yes, I do," he agreed. Now, with dozen or so books with all their knowledge and references in his mind, he had regained enough of his alchemical understanding for what Ed and Al were trying to become nothing but the simplest of basics, and very easy to comprehend. Still very advanced for a four and a five year old, but just the basics.

"And could you help them, if something went wrong, and it might become dangerous?" Trisha asked.

"Maybe. Probably," he agreed. He would have to try it first to be sure, but he could already imagine several things to do in such a situation.

"Well then. That's something that can't be measured in value," she said, smiling. "If there was an alchemical rebound with whatever they were trying, there would be little _I_ could do, but I feel much better, knowing that you could. So that is payment enough, if such thing is really required."

"Well… alright then," Nicolas nodded. "If you say so."

"I do say so," Trisha agreed, and then looked at him, at the shirt he was wearing. "Tomorrow, I think we ought to visit the town and get you some clothing," she added. "There are some of Van's old clothing around the house, but they're all too big on you…"

"Actually, now that you think about it… I could probably alter them with alchemy," Nicolas realised. "Making a set of clothing _smaller_ is fairly simple, though the end result would have a thicker fabric probably. Though," he stopped, a bit awkward. "Those are your husband's things, so you probably don't want me tampering with them…"

Trisha hesitated and then smiled sadly. "Well…" she folded her arms and thought about if. "I think it's best we go shopping, never the less," she said then and smiled. "My husband's style might not be the sort of thing that would look good on you or be comfortable."

"Alright," Nicolas agreed, not saying that he could've altered the clothing to look like anything he wished. "Tomorrow then."

"Yes. We need other things too; you need a tooth brush for one. And underwear, I don't thin anyone would be comfortable with wearing someone else's underwear, or the exact same one days on end," Trisha murmured with some amusement. "And there are some other things too. I think I ought to write a list."

"Alright," Nicolas said, and put the lasts of the books into the shelves. "What about now?"

"Now, I think, it's too late for more than going to bed. It's been a long day," she said. "Do you need anything else, Nicolas? Oh, you haven't even had a bath, and you were all bloody when you came. Should I get you a towel?"

He glanced at himself. He hadn't thought about it, but he did feel a bit grimy. "Can I take a bath with automail?" he asked thoughtfully.

"Yes. I asked Pinako about it, and she said that so as long as the automail is allowed to drip for a while, it's alright. She suggested walking about for a while after a bath, to get most of the water out," Trisha agreed. "How about I run you a bath, then?"

"I think I'd like that," Nicolas agreed. "Thank you."

Though he had watched Pinako attend to his automail, it was different watching it being serviced, and exploring itself. The automail itself wasn't really that big of a surprise, but as he settled down to the warm water, sighing as aches he didn't know he had were soothed, it was the scars that caught his interest. Around his shoulder – most of them were surgery scars, with old signs of stitching here and there. Around his thigh – it was the same thing there, for the most part. But it was also more. He had what he recognised as frostbite scars.

And then there were other things. He had a big scar on the left side of his stomach – and a corresponding wound on his back, like something had gone through him, something big. There are others, numerous scratches and little burn marks, and splotches were his skin was just plain numb and wouldn't feel anything no matter how he prodded or pinched.

There was more too. Flexing his left hand a bit, he looked at his bicep and frowned. It wasn't just the automail, which was made for fighting. His whole body was that. Compact, firm, and definitely muscled.

His body had gone through a lot. Exercise and training, fighting and scarring - more than he could really comprehend. It was a little sad, that it knew more about his past than he did.

"Nicolas," he murmured, leaning his head back and against the side of the tub. "Nicolas Flamel." He already thought of himself as Nicolas, having decided to get used to it as soon as possible. The trouble Pinako had spoken about… he didn't want any inconsistency of his actions cause that, so he would be Nicolas.

Still, it felt strange, to have force himself to memorise and internalise his own name. Flamel would've been easier – he _knew_ Flamel; he understood it, comprehended it – if it was tangible, he could've deconstructed it and reconstructed it. What was Nicolas though? What did it even mean?

But one couldn't go around being addressed by their surname. And names were given to people by their parents, he knew that much. No one chose their names. Well. As far as he knew, anyway, they were all chosen for them.

Sighing he closed his eyes. He had no idea. He had absolutely no idea, about anything. His head was full of alchemy, more and more of it as the things he had read returned to him, creating little pathways of references between each other, which his slumbering mind then fleshed out with things he knew instinctively, but had to be reminded of. And yet, even after all of that, his head was _empty_. So empty it echoed.

"Nicolas Flamel," he said again, and dunked his head beneath the water. Nicolas Flamel, son of Van Hohenheim – formerly Edward Elric, son of Trisha Elric, though no one was to know that. He was probably sixteen years of age, an alchemist – State Alchemist even, though he wasn't sure what that meant. Something to do with military. He had blonde hair and golden eyes, scars all over him, and automail in his right shoulder and left thigh, automail designed for physical combat.

It seemed a lot and a little all at the same time.

Opening his eyes beneath the water, he looked up to the distorted image of the ceiling above the surface, his body floating in near weightlessness the way his mind seemed to be. Beyond it, there was the house of the Elrics. Ed and Al, his… self and his brother – no, his _half brothers_ – were sleeping just in the second floor. Trisha was somewhere there too. It was a home. Maybe it was even _his_ home.

He resurfaced with a sigh, and then got to washing himself. After the bath, he dressed into set of clean clothing Trisha had supplied him with – Hohenheim's old clothing, judging by the sheer size of them. He didn't mind, though they did make him feel fairly… small.

"Done?" Trisha asked, as he re-emerged from the bathroom, towelling his long hair. "How do you feel?"

"Clean. Warm. Wet," Nicolas answered, shaking his right arm a bit, and sending water droplets everywhere. He grimaced. "Maybe I ought to walk circles in the bathroom for a while, to get the water off," he muttered. "I'll leave puddles everywhere at this rate.

"That's alright, these floors have suffered worse than bit of water," Trisha said, looking at his hair thoughtfully. "You probably ought to brush that before you go to bed, though," she mused.

"Yes, maybe," he agreed.

"Can…" Trisha started, and after moment of hesitation continued. "Can I do it? Brush your hair I mean."

Nicolas looked at her, his eyebrows rising slightly at the tone of her voice. "If you want to," he answered. It seemed like something important to her, though he couldn't see why. "The brush was in the bathroom, wasn't it? Should I get it?"

"I'll do it," she answered, and went to fetch the brush while Nicolas sat to one of the kitchen chairs, continuing to towel his hair. Soon the woman returned with the hair brush and with a comb, coming to stand behind him. While he lowered the towel, she begun pulling his hair back, combing her fingers through it to get every strand long enough to reach.

"You have such a lovely hair. Just like your father," she murmured, while starting to carefully run the brush through the hair, starting from the bottom and working her way up. "As thick and smooth too. I suppose you never have to worry about tangles."

"I don't know. Maybe not," Nicolas answered, using the towel to try and get the water out of his automail. It felt strange, a bit unsettling, to have someone behind him like that, so near his back and spine and all the other painfully vulnerable spots – it felt like his kidneys wanted to crawl deeper into his body, just because of the presence so near them.

But in the same time… it felt nice, comforting even, to have her brushing his hair. It was very odd.

"What is he like?" Nicolas asked, squirming a little and trying to ignore the feeling. "Van Hohenheim I mean."

"I showed you a picture, remember? He shares a lot of features with you and the boys. He's… tall, broad shouldered. He's just a very big man," Trisha answered. She was quiet for a moment, just running the brush down along his hair. "He is… quiet. Very introvert, always thinking to himself. Master at alchemy, but a poor handy man. Awkward at times, not very good at social situations. Infinitely wise. He… seems aloof at times, but he's really not. If anything, he is the most sensitive man I've ever met."

Nicolas bowed his head, trying to imagine it, thinking about the picture Trisha had shown him. The man who had been crying unashamedly, while the rest of his family smiled at the camera. "Why did he leave?" he asked, and turned to look at Trisha. "He _did_ leave, didn't he?"

The woman frowned, lowering the brush. Then she sighed, and shook her head. "There are things he needs to do," she answered and then smiled. "I won't fool myself by saying I understand why, but… I trust him."

Nicolas eyed her quietly for a while, trying to figure out what she was saying, and what she wasn't. "Well. I guess that's okay then," he murmured, and turned to look ahead. Absently he wondered if Van Hohenheim returned.

Trisha sighed, and ran the brush through his hair couple more times, before setting it down. "All done," she said, and he stood up.

"I don't… I don't know much. Or understand everything – my mind is so empty that it's hard to just think at times, but…" Nicolas hesitated and then shrugged. "I'm glad I'm _here_. That I came to this house. That I appeared in front of this house."

Trisha smiled, something glimmering in her eyes as she reached and pulled him to her chest. "You're always welcome," she said, hugging him close for a moment. "Now come. It's time we too go to bed.

He nodded a bit awkwardly, and then made his way upstairs and to the study, where he sat down to mattress on the floor. He spent a moment more thinking, about himself and Trisha, Ed and Al, and Van Hohenheim, trying to connect the dots and maybe, just maybe, remember something real. Something true. Something he was supposed to _know_ about them, rather than what he had been told.

Nothing.

Sighing, he ran his flesh fingers through his damp hair and looked around himself. With some embarrassment he realised that he hadn't really taken a proper look around the room – he had just helped clean it, set the bed and then had just sat down and started to read, without paying much attention to his surroundings.

It was a surprisingly large room. The bookshelves made it seem smaller, that and the large desk beneath the window. There were other things there though, large map on a wall – Amestris, he recognised it, having seen older, smaller maps of the country in the _History of Alchemy in Amestris_. It had gotten bigger, it seemed, but then Nicolas hadn't finished the book.

For some reason, there was a suit of armour in the corner of the room.

He didn't dream of anything that first night. It was rather disappointing.

x

The village of Resembool wasn't very big, but it was full of so many new things that for Nicolas, it might've as well been the capital of the world. Every where he looked, there was something new to be realised – tools, streets and their signs, houses and their adornments, people and their clothing, their possessions, their mannerisms, their words.

"It's not much," Trisha said, as they walked down the village's main street towards what Nicolas assumed would be the clothing store. "But we manage fine, I suppose. Ed, Al," she then called after them. "Don't dawdle or I won't buy you more paper."

"Yes mom," they answered in unison and ran after them, having been distracted by something in a display window of what looked like jewellery store. As they caught up with them, Edward looked up to Nicolas curiously. "Why don't you have any clothing anyway?" he asked.

"I suppose I lost them," the elder male answered, shrugging his shoulders.

"Couldn't you just transmute some?"

"Maybe, but I wouldn't know the exact formula or materials required to make proper fabric," Nicolas answered, thinking about it. "I suppose I could try it in a pinch, but I doubt the end result would be much like real fabric. Maybe if I had some cloth to start with, but…"

"Once you become good enough with alchemy, do you think you would never have to buy anything?" Ed asked thoughtfully. "All you would need was to transmute things. Anything you could imagine, you could probably just make."

"You can't transmute food," Alphonse disagreed. "Or things like books with writing in them. Well you could, but you would need to know the original word to word to make it exact."

"And I think it would be hard to transmute something like this," Nicolas said, holding up his right hand. "I wouldn't know where to start."

"Here we are," Trisha interrupted the conversation, and pointed at a store just a little bit ahead. "This is where most everyone in Resembool buys their clothing. Come along, boys; let's see if we can find Nicolas something suitable to wear."

As they entered the shop, the keeper greeted them first cheerfully, then with a curious expression when he saw Nicolas. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Elric," the man said, leaning to the counter. "You have a guest staying over?"

"Hello, Jackson. And yes, this is Nicolas. He will be staying with us for a while," Trisha said, smiling. "We need some clothing for him. Do you think you have anything that would fit?"

"I think I should have something," the shop keeper said thoughtfully, and pushed himself away from the counter. "Come along to the back, the men's clothing are all there."

While Ed and Al peered at the racks and pointed pieces of clothing they found particularly amusing. Trisha and Nicolas selected some simple clothing from the racks for the youth to test, with the help of the shopkeeper, Jackson, who offered several advices – most of which leaned towards the more expensive bits of clothing.

Nicolas didn't care much for fashions and what did or did not look good. He was fine with plain and practical, and he would've rather gone with whatever fit. He would've been perfectly fine with simple pants and shirts, but Trisha set her food down there, and so the simple pants and shirts were joined by not so simple pants and unnecessarily formal button up shirts, belts and vests and even a tie of few, until Nicolas wasn't entirely sure what he was looking at.

"And here!" Trisha finished dressing up him, by holding up a long brown coat. "Try it, try it!

"Alright, alright," Nicolas sighed and pulled the coat on, before turning to the mirror. Well, it didn't look bad he supposed. He had no idea what looked good or bad, but it seemed… respectable. "Is this alright, though?" he asked. "I mean, paying for this… I don't have any money."

"Don't be silly," Trisha answered with a smile. "You're living with us now, so of course I will pay for it."

Nicolas gave her a bit guilty look, wishing he didn't have to be so dependant. "I'll pay back. Somehow," he said awkwardly and then looked at the mirror again. "I'd like a few sleeveless shirts, though," he added. "If it is at all right."

"Of course it. Select a few and we'll buy the lot," Trisha said, before gong to find Ed and Al, who had wandered elsewhere in the store.

"Nicolas, huh?" the storekeeper asked, glancing after Trisha. "Nicolas Hohenheim?"

The youth looked away. Of course, he had known people would ask, Pinako and Trisha had told that they would, but he hadn't expected them to ask so quickly. "Flamel," he answered a bit awkwardly. "Nicolas Flamel. Are there any sleeveless shirts here?"

"Over there," the shopkeeper said, and thankfully didn't ask any more questions.

The clothing store wasn't the last they visited, though. Trisha felt that Nicolas needed some hygiene products specially made for males, and so they visited the grocery store too – for a tooth brush, special body washes and whatnot. She ended up picking most of them, as Nicolas himself had no idea what was appropriate.

There was a group of women near the store entrance when they paid for the purchases. They whispered and looked at Nicolas the entire time, glancing between him and Trisha and looking almost pitying.

"… always been secretive. Do you think she knew?" one of them was saying, when Nicolas carried the several bags past them, being the assigned luggage bearer of their small group.

"Who knows. That Hohenheim is a weird one…"

"… to spring something like that on poor Trisha…"

Nicolas glanced at them, and they fell quiet until the entire family was past them. Trisha didn't seem to even hear them, but Ed and Al were both glancing backwards thoughtfully.

"They were talking about dad," Al said after a moment, once they were out on the street. "Why were they talking about dad?"

"Never mind that, Al, dear," Trisha said with a smile and then glanced at Nicolas. "I just thought of something. What do you think of glasses? Pinako suggested them, didn't she… There is store here were should be able to…"

"I can probably make them myself," Nicolas answered. He didn't feel like visiting more stores, not if this was how it would be. The people out on the streets were looking at them too, whispering behind their palms, and he could only imagine what Ed and Al were thinking about it.

He grit his teeth and looked ahead. "If you have some scrap metal around the house, maybe some fine sand or glass too, I should be able to transmute them."

"Alright," Trisha said and smiled brightly. "Let's go back then."

They turned to leave the village, when sound of someone coughing heavily caught Trisha's attention. "Mr. Dyne," she said, noticing the source of the sound. It was an elderly man who was leaning onto his cane while coughing into his palm. "Spring cold is it? Shouldn't you be indoors?"

"Ah, Mrs. Elric. I'm just popping out a moment to get some clear air," the elderly man said, wiping his lips and then smiling. "Edward and Alphonse too. Good afternoon, boys."

The boys nodded, Alphonse waving while Nicolas looked at the man thoughtfully. He looked feverish – there was definite sheen of sweat on the old man's face. Trisha was right; he probably shouldn't be out doors.

Mr. Dyne seemed to sense the stating, and turned to face Nicolas, squinting at the youth. "Hm, don't think I've seen you around," he murmured. "Visitor from out of town, perhaps?"

"In a manner of speaking. Nicolas is going to be staying with us from now on," Trisha said with a smile and then glanced at Nicolas. "This is Mr. Dyne, he runs the primary school here."

"Ah. Do Ed and Al go to school already?" Nicolas asked, glancing at the boys. They were certainly smart enough, though he wasn't sure about their ages. They were pretty young too.

"They will start as soon as the classes do, next autumn," Trisha said, reaching to ruffle Al's hair. "Right boys?"

"Yes," Alphonse agreed with a smile while Ed nodded without much enthusiasm. "We're looking forward to it!"

"Hm. How about you, young man?" the elderly Mr. Dyne asked from Nicolas. "Have you gone to school?"

"I, uh…" Nicolas floundered a bit at that, having no idea.

"He is home schooled," Trisha said with a smile. "We should be heading home, before the groceries spoil," she the said. "Do go home, Mr. Dyne. You look like you have a fever."

"Yes, you're probably right," the old man said, and coughed softly. "Well, it was nice to meet you, Mrs. Elric, boys. I hope you will like our fair little village, Nicolas. It's not much, but it's home," he said, and then turned to leave.

"Thank you," Nicolas answered a little awkwardly, wondering. "Is there a clinic here?"

"Yes, there is. The old timers here are bit on the stubborn side though, but they're a hardy lot," Trisha laughed. "Let's go then, shall we?"

As they walked, Ed and Al whispered behind them, their discussion getting so heated that Trisha glanced at them a couple of times curiously, making the boys fall quiet. Nicolas, having a bad feeling that he knew what the topic of their conversation was, said nothing, just hitched the numerous bags higher and continued walking.

It wasn't like you could hide things from children as smart as Ed and Al, not for long. Especially something this big, when they weren't even hiding it, not really. All they had done, or all Trisha had done, was give an explanation which wasn't as much lie as it was grossly incomplete, and then leave it hanging there.

All Nicolas could hope that, if the boys took it badly, they wouldn't accuse Trisha of anything. It wasn't her fault he had amnesia and a past that made very little sense.

"Hm. I suppose you need something to put your clothing into," Trisha said thoughtfully once they made it to the house. "There is no closet I can give you, I don't think, but there should be an old chest in the attic. How about we get that and see if it's any good?"

"Sounds good to me," Nicolas said, and left the bags to the study while following the woman up and to the attic. Ed and Al, Nicolas noted, weren't following but had instead headed off with troubled looks about their faces, still whispering.

"Oh dear," Trisha murmured once they were alone, and ran a hand over her face. "This might be a little tricky."

"They're smart kids," Nicolas said. "They might explode a bit, but that can't last forever. Now, where is that chest?"

"In the back," she said, and they pulled the heavy chest out, blowing dust from the lid and peering inside. There were some old books and papers inside, so Nicolas assumed it was one of Hohenheim's things. "Hm. There should be enough space in the study bookshelves for these," Nicolas said, taking out one of the books. It was old, the bindings were coming loose and the cover was cracked, but he could still recognise a circle on top of it. Except... it wasn't.

"What's this?" he murmured, tracing the patterns which were similar to alchemy, but almost alien to him, despite how easily alchemy usually came to him. "Is this... what is this?" he asked slowly, and opened the book.

It was written in symbols he couldn't even begin to understand.

"Xingnese," Trisha said, taking the book. "Oh, I remember these. Seems like it was ages ago! Van used to carry lot of Xingnese books when we first met, and when we bought this house he brought some of them from a storage he had kept them. I didn't realise he had taken them up here."

Nicolas frowned, turning the book again and eying the almost-alchemical pattern on the cracked cover. Xingnese, he knew, was the language spoken and written in the country of Xing, which was on the other side of the Eastern Desert. They had alchemy there? He hadn't known that. And it was alchemy which, apparently, his slumbering memories had no reaction to.

Interesting.

"I'll take this downstairs," he decided, closing the chest lid and then heaving the whole thing up and to his left shoulder. It wasn't exactly light, but he supposed he could carry it the short distance. "If... if there are more books here in Xingnese, do you think I could have a look at them?" he asked.

"Sure. I'll look around," Trisha promised, giving him a worried look. "Are you sure you can manage that?"

"Well, these muscles ought to be good for something," Nicolas grinned, and then turned to carry the chest back to the study. The stairs down were a bit tricky and he almost fell once, but he managed to get the thing to the room, and there onto a floor, where he considered it thoughtfully for a while. He probably ought to get the books and papers out, and then clean the chest, before putting the clothing in...

"Hey, Nick?" Ed's voice came from behind him, making Nicolas glance back. Ed and Al were both at the door of the room, looking at him seriously.

"Nick?" the elder boy asked with surprise. "Me?"

"Yes, obviously you," Ed snapped and then, with a serious frown, pointed a finger at him. "How, exactly, are you related to Van Hohenheim?" he demanded to know, while Al frowned just as seriously beside him, squeezing the door frame in his fingers, his knuckles white.

"Ah," Nicolas murmured, scratching his scalp. He was tempted to send them to ask it from Trisha, but seeing that they had come to him and not to Trisha... And, he supposed he deserved some trouble for this deceit, seeing that it was for his benefit.

Shaking his head, he crouched on the floor, to get to the same eye level as the boys. "Trisha says he's my father," he said simply, while Edward let out a hiss and Alphonse gasped. "I don't remember," Nicolas added, before they could say anything. "To me he's one stranger in a world full of them; I only know what Trisha has told me."

"Nothing at all?" Alphonse demanded. "You don't know where... where he is?"

Nicolas shook his head, and looked at the two of them. Alphonse seemed more interested about Hohenheim in general, but there was something very worrying in the belligerent expression on Ed's face, the way the boy was scowling at him. "Trisha's beyond kind to take me in," Nicolas added, thinking about what to say very carefully, looking at Ed more than at Al. "Considering everything. But you know, whatever happened, probably happened before your mother and father even _met_ each other." At least, it would've, had the lie been actually true.

Edward hissed and then exchanged a look with Alphonse. "So, you're our... half brother?" Al asked slowly.

"I suppose. You don't need to call me that, though, if you don't want to," Nicolas said and shrugged.

"Why didn't... Did mom even know?" Edward demanded to know.

Nicolas shrugged again. "Who knows if Hohenheim even knew. These things can happen kind of unexpectedly," he said, and then sat down completely, crossing his flesh ankle over his metal one. "So, what's eating you? That you didn't know? I didn't know either."

"What's eating me is that you're here at all. Why are you here? Why aren't you with your own mother?" Edward snapped. "Why our home, why our mom? She's _our_ mom."

"I know," Nicolas said, blinking a little at the outburst. "Just because I'm here, that won't change, you know." When neither Edward nor Alphonse said anything else, he sighed, scratching his temple and trying to figure out what he was supposed to say. He had no idea what people did in these sorts of situations.

"I'm here... well, I don't know. Because I have no other place to go, and because Trisha is kind enough to take me in, despite everything," he said slowly. "Your mother is nice, and I see why you love her so much. I wonder..." he trailed away and then got an idea. "Would you love her so much if she had chased me off with a broom?"

"What? Why would she do that?" Ed asked. "That makes no sense!"

"Well, you're pissed at me because she took me in, that doesn't make much sense either," Nicolas answered.

"Of course it does. I don't want you here," Edward answered.

"You didn't seem to mind before," the elder boy answered,

"Well, before I didn't know you were his _son_. You shouldn't have lied!"

"I didn't, I said nothing," Nicolas answered, and folded his arms. "Does it make such a big difference, really? That Van Hohenheim is my father? He is your father too."

"Yes, but…" Edward floundered for a moment, before pointing an accusing finger at him. "I will never acknowledge you as my brother! I don't even know who you are!"

"That makes two of us," Nicolas said calmly, and then looked at Alphonse. "What do you think, Al? Do you think I should go too, and everyone should forget all about this?"

The boy hesitated, looking between fuming Edward and the youth and then frowned. "I don't… why are you here? Why now?"

Nicolas shrugged, getting tired of repeating that he didn't know. Both the boys probably remembered that he had an amnesia, they were just repeating questions because it was all they could do. "I'm not going to supplant you in your mother's eyes, you know," he said, turning away and shaking his. "Now come here and help me sort out these books."

"No!" Edward snapped.

"Stop being idiot, and come here," Nicolas answered, reaching and opening the chest lid. "Did you know they have alchemy in the country of Xing? I didn't," he said, taking out a book and looking at the not-alchemy circle on it.

There was a moment of silence, and he could the heaviness in the air as Al and Ed communicated through facial expressions and silent gestures. Then, after endless period of awkwardness, Ed grunted. "What is it?" he asked grudgingly, and came forward.

"I have no idea, but I would like to find out," Nicolas said, and opened the book. "I can't read Xingnese."

"Pff! What good are you then?"

"Well, can _you_ read Xingnese, pipsqueak?" Nicolas answered, and was nearly mauled by the resulting explosion.

As awkwardly sighing Alphonse went about taking the books out of the chest, and Nicolas held the fuming and roaring Edward away with the unfeeling automail – that didn't suffer much from the kid's punching and kicking – the youth could see Trisha's shadow by the doorway. He lifted a silent eyebrow at her, and she smiled before cautiously coming in, carrying some books and scrolls in her arms.

"How is it coming?" she asked, like she hadn't been listening in. "Do you think your clothing will fit into it?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah, they should," Nicolas answered, and clasped struggling Ed into a headlock. "Do you think I could find a Xingnese dictionary somewhere in here?"

"Let me go you bast -!"

"If not here, then I suppose you ought to be able to buy or order one from somewhere," Trisha said, and after Ed had managed to pry himself loose from Nicola's hold, together they went about emptying the chest and arranging the aged Xingnese texts into the few empty spots left in the bookshelves.

"I don't think that's the end of it," Nicolas said, after Trisha had sent the boys for a rag and some water so that they could clean the chest.

"No," she agreed and smiled at him. "You handled it well."

"I don't know about that," he sighed, scratching his hair. It was getting in his way a bit, making him wonder if he could tie it like Trisha's was. Or braid it – he had seen a woman in the village with braided hair, that seemed useful.

"I'm sure everything will work out fine," Trisha said after a moment. "Ed and Al are good kids. Ed is a bit impulsive, but he never stays angry for long."

"Really? I think he's the sort who will nurse his anger until it's a hot enough to roast something," Nicolas muttered and shook his head. "Well, whatever will happen, will happen when it will. No use worrying about it now."

x

It wasn't the end of it. Ed exploded couple more times that day, and it usually ended up in nearly physical blows once he got himself fully going. Alphonse was more quiet and thoughtful about it, and his first reaction didn't seem to be anger, but the thoughtful looks he gave to Nicolas and the looks he sent to his mother's direction were a bit worrisome.

"Okay, that's enough," Nicolas decided, after Edward had very nearly kicked him to the scars of his automail port – which he knew, would've _hurt_. With grim determination, he hauled the brat up by the back of his shirt before snatching Al by the waist, and carrying the both of them out of the study. "Excuse me Trisha," the youth said, as they passed the surprised woman by. "Your sons need to cool down a bit."

"Oh dear," she said, looking partially worried and partially amused.

"Mom, make him put us down! He has no right to treat us like this!" Edward wailed.

"Well, what did you do to make him treat you like that?" Trisha asked, putting her hands to her waist, and paling a bit the boy looked away. She sighed and shook her head before looking expectantly at Nicolas.

"I'll talk with them just a bit," Nicolas said, figuring that Edward didn't need to have her mother scolding him on top of everything else. "It shouldn't take long."

"Alright. Be back soon, though – the dinner is almost done," she answered, and then looked after them as Nicolas more or less hauled the shocked and defeated Elric brothers out of the house. They were nearly inert when he dropped them unceremoniously to the yard, probably not having been expected their mother not to take their side.

"Now," he said, cracking his human knuckles in his automail palm, while the shocked looking kids gave him wide eyed looks and hurriedly backed away, hugging each other for comfort. "Let's talk."

Ed looked terrified for a moment, before seeming to steel himself. He got to his feet and clenched his first. "I'm not scared of you, you bastard interloper," he snapped. "Come on; give me your best shot!"

"That's not what I -" Nicolas started and then stopped as the boy launched at him, fists first. He reacted almost instantly to that, though, and Ed's clumsy attack was put to an end as Nicolas neatly avoided him, took him by the arm and flipped him in the air, sending the boy back to where he had started from, though on his back rather than on his feet.

"Brother!" Alphonse cried, and then turned blazing eyes at Nicolas, who figured that he might've just made a big mistake. Then Alphonse too was rushing at him, in clumsy attempt to attack – the result of which was more or less the same.

It ended up with both boys rushing at him and being sent back, over and over again until the attacks got clumsier and clumsier as they got more tired with each flip. Once they were too exhausted to attack again, Nicolas eyed them thoughtfully, pushing his hands into his pockets. It wasn't _quite_ what he had in mind, but at least the kids would listen now. Hopefully.

"Alright," he said, as the boys panted for breath and nursed their no doubt stinging bottoms. "Now that you got that out of your system, let's talk."

"Talk then!" Ed snarled at him, shifting to his knees and looking at his elbows. It didn't seem to be badly hurt, but the boy still hissed when he poked at it.

"I don't mind you two hating me, I don't mind you attacking me, it doesn't really do much damage. What I do mind is where it goes a bit too far," Nicolas said and pointed a finger at Edward. "No kicking near the automail ports. That stuff _hurts,_ you know."

"Tch," Ed answered and stood up, wavering a little but managing to stay upright. "It's the point. Maybe if I kick enough times, you go away."

"Hm. And this makes Trisha very proud of you, I suppose?" Nicolas asked casually, making both boys wince sharply. "If you really have such a bit problem with this, how about you take it up with her. She was the one who took me in. It wasn't just my idea, you know."

"Fine! Come on, Al," Ed said, and rushed past Nicolas, to the house. Alphonse, however, didn't get up and instead looked at Nicolas serious from where he sat, on the ground.

"Do you really have no place to go?" the boy asked seriously, as the door banged shut after Edward somewhere behind Nicolas.

"I really don't. Not that I know of it anyway," the youth answered, and crouched down. "What did I do that was so bad, that you can stand me here?" he asked curiously.

"Well…" Alphonse said and then frowned. There was a short moment of silence, before he sighed and rubbed at his eyes before standing up. "I'll talk with brother," he said determinedly.

"Alright," Nicolas said, standing up as well and looking at the youngest Elric, as he headed back indoors. Left alone in the yard, he ran a hand through his hair. "I really have no idea what just happened," he muttered, and then shrugged.

It seemed to bring some results, so he figured he might as well keep on winging it. Hopefully it would resolve itself in time.

Soon, he wished. There was so much he wanted to read, and he couldn't with Ed exploding at his face every fifteen minutes.

x

Whatever happened after that, Nicolas didn't know. He supposed Edward and Alphonse talked, with each other and maybe with their mother, and something was resolved. In the end, he found them in the study while he was just about to settle down to read a book about the basics of medical alchemy.

"What?" he asked, as the boys looked at him with serious scowls, looking very much like they had the time they had come to ask about Hohenheim. "Well, spit it out already," he added, when neither of them said a word.

Ed and Al exchanged a look and then bowed their heads in unison. "We're sorry!" they said, and lifted their heads, looking almost defiantly at him, like expecting him to argue.

"Alright," Nicolas said, not getting the formality at all. "You want to work with some alchemy?" he asked then, when they just stood there, waiting.

Ed frowned harder. "That's it?" he demanded.

"What do you want me to say?" he asked back confusedly.

"Do you forgive us?" Alphonse asked, squeezing the hem of his shirt in his hands.

"What's there to forgive?" Nicolas asked, and reached for the _Introduction to Alchemy_. "You just got a bit emotional, is all. No harm done," he said, and threw the book at Ed, who caught it just barely. "Get to work. That crane won't fold itself."

The boys hesitated, glancing at each other. Then, relaxing a bit, they stepped forward and settled onto their usual spot on the floor, opening the book. For a long moment they just stared at it silently, and Nicolas was pretty sure they weren't even reading it, while the atmosphere tightened.

He sighed, and lay down on his back on the mattress, lifting the book he was reading up and finding the spot where he had left off. "You need paper and pen, you know," he said, putting his human hand behind his neck and holding the book with the automail one. One benefit of automail he had found – his right hand didn't seem to get tired at all, no matter how long he held it up.

"Right," Alphonse said, and got the paper and the pen. The silence continued for little while longer, before they stared sketching the alchemy circle down. It took good ten minutes for either of them to say anything, and another five for few exchanged words to turn into actual discussion – and more than that, before they seemed to relax completely.

Half an hour and they were almost back to the way they had been before.

Nicolas glanced at them before letting himself relax a bit too. With a slight smile, he turned his attention to the book and then turned the page.

Ed and All fell asleep at the foot of the mattress again, and had to be carried to their room by the end of the day. "Seems like they resolved their issues," Nicolas noted, after Trisha had kissed them good night.

"Yes. I was positive they would," she said, and gave him a look. "That thing you did outside though…"

"Wasn't my idea. I just wanted to talk before Ed came rushing at me," Nicolas answered defensively, folding his arms. "I fended them off as gently as I could. Besides, it gave them a chance to vent some of their emotions without hurting themselves too badly." He hesitated. "I won't do it again," he added in a small voice.

She smiled and shook her head. "No, no, please do. Ed and Al are extremely energetic pair of boys, and I can't keep up with them," she said, laughing as they walked away from the door to he boys' room. "I think they could use some tumbling about every now and then, and I'd rather they did that safely, instead of going at each other with fists and knees. They've done that a couple of times too, it can get a bit ugly. And the aftermath is often uglier."

Trisha laughed suddenly. "Besides," she said, pointing at the clock. "This is good two hours earlier than they _usually_ go to bed. It's a borderline miracle in this house, let me tell you."

"Alright," Nicolas said, shaking his head, not really getting it. He had expected to be scolded, not approved of. "So, everything is alright?"

"Hm. Yes," she agreed with a sigh. "I think they understand that there is little anyone of us can do about this situation. Things are the way they are, and sometimes there is no changing them."

"Well, technically there is. I _could_ leave," Nicolas said quietly.

"No, Nicolas. I think you appeared here for a very good reason," Trisha said and smiled. "Stay," she added, patting his shoulder. "And give the boys a good thumping every now and then to get them to go to bed at a sensible hour, I implore you."

"Alright. I'll see what I can do," he promised awkwardly.

"Good," she nodded. "Now, did you think about the glasses at all?"

"Huh? Oh, I forgot about that completely," he murmured, and scratched at his neck. "I suppose I could do it now, if there are materials. I think I'd need some reference though, I'm not sure what sort of glasses to make. The sort Pinako has?"

"Hm. It's been a while, but I used to have some skill at drawing," Trisha mused. "How about I sketch you some versions and you can select from them? Then we can look about the house and see if we can find something use for the material. I'm sure there are some useless stuff about here that will work just fine."

Trisha was perhaps not the greatest artist in the world, but she did get the concept across. Nicolas was more interested in the precise measurements of the glasses, not the exact outlook however, and while she sketched the models, he took measurements of his own face and head to get the size about right. It wouldn't do for them to be too small or too big or lopsided on one side.

"I think these sorts of glasses would fit you the best," Trisha said finally, pointing an oval pair she had drawn. "Or maybe these…" she tapped another sketch, these ones more angular.

"Nothing keeps me from transmuting them again, if the style isn't right," Nicolas said. "I think I have the measurements now. Next I need the materials."

He ended up using three slightly rusty nails and a water glass with a chipped edge that wasn't in use in the house anymore. While Trisha watched, he took one of the large sheets of paper Edward and Alphonse used in their alchemy practice, and begun sketching the circle into it with free hand. Two circles, two squares that overlapped at the corners, and a rhombus in the middle. After a moment of consideration, he handed the symbols for earth and metal to the edges of the rhombus, for extra balance.

It was basically a freeform transmutation circle, but much more precise than the one Ed and Al had used. How the result would turn out mostly relied on what he wanted it to come out as, rather than from the information contained on the circle.

"Moment of truth," he murmured and set the materials to the middle of the rhombus. It could very well be that he only knew Alchemy, but had no talent at using it – he never had performed any, after all, not as far as he could remember it.

While Trisha stepped back a little, Nicolas rested his hands, metal and flesh, on the edges of circle. Something seemed to open inside him, almost like a flood gate, and spark passed from his hands to the circle. There was a glimmer of blue before the entire circle flowed with it, and the materials shifted. The nails and the water glass both melted, before lurching towards each other, to combine. The glass formed into oval disks while the metal circled itself at the edges, forming bridge in between and then reaching back, to form the temples. After moment of consideration, Nicolas used the remaining glass – of which there was a lot – to make the nose pads and to coat the metal in thin film of glazing that would protect it from rusting.

The glimmer of blue light faded and he reached forward to take the finished product. "Done," he said, and held them out. "What do you think?"

"Marvellously done!" Trisha congratulated him, taking the glasses. "You forgot to add hinges to the temple pieces," she pointed.

"I can still change them, if it's not good," Nicolas said. He would need to make a different circle for that, though – it wouldn't be exactly freeform transmutation but form alteration, that was a different thing…

"Let's try them first," Trisha said, and then reached forward to push the glasses to Nicola's face, carefully sliding the temple pieces over his ears before carefully situation the glasses over the bridge of his nose. "Maybe a bit too big, but not bad, definitely not bad," she said, smiling. "You look very distinguished."

"Thanks, I suppose," he answered, touching the glasses. They felt a bit strange there, but he supposed he could get used to it. They didn't seem to be as much in the way as he had feared, though it was strange to have _frames_ on what he saw. "Do they make me look different?" he then asked.

"A bit yes. It's not a bad look on you," Trisha promised and hugged him suddenly. As Nicolas stared at her neck with some surprise, she sighed sadly. "You look a lot like your father probably looked like at your age, you know," she murmured into his hair.

Nicolas hesitated, and then patted her back awkwardly. "Maybe I shouldn't wear the glasses then," he said.

"No, it's okay," Trisha said and pulled back. She smiled brightly. "It's alright for children to look like their parents. It's a good thing, even," she said, and patted his cheek. "It's expected."

"Well… alright then," he murmured confusedly, not entirely sure if she was sad about it or no. "So, these ones are good, or would the angular ones be better?" he asked, adjusting the glasses again.

"These ones are good, though you might want to ad the hinges, they will be a bit tough to manage, otherwise," the woman said with a smile, and patted his cheek again. "I think I will have a glass of water and then go to sleep," she said. "Do you need anything else, Nicolas?"

"No, I don't think so. Thank you," he said, bowing his head a bit.

"You're welcome," Trisha said. "Good night."

"Night," he answered, and was then left alone, wondering if he had brought some old hurt to the surface and if Trisha had gone to nurse herself through it in privacy – she had retreated rather quickly. It was hard not knowing when he said something right or wrong, especially since she didn't let him know.

"Well," he murmured, and then looked at the window. It was dark enough outside, that the window acted more as a mirror, than as window. Carefully he adjusted the glasses again, looking at himself and trying to get used to this new addition. After a while, he reached back, and braided his loose hair, before looking at himself again. His bangs still framed his face, with the rest of his hair tied in the back, he looked a bit different. Less… effeminate.

He glanced at the armour standing silently in the corner of the room, and flicked a finger at the glasses. "What do you think?" he asked, tilting his head a bit. "Is Trisha right? Is it a good look on me?"

The armour, of course, said nothing.

xx

AN; There will be a lot of alchemy talk and theory and stuff in this - most of it I am pulling out of my rear end, though some of it comes from internet research. Either way, don't take any of it as gospel.

Fair warning; this might end up having a slash pairing for Nicolas. I dunno yet. I will know once the story gets that far. If it does.

My apologies for possible grammar errors. If this has words randomly glued together, its ffnets fault, it does it own lovely editing.


	3. With a Smile

Warnings; Spoilers, time travel, amnesia, death of character, etc. FMA manga and Brotherhood based, has nothing what so ever to do with 2003 anime. Might have pairings,** might have slash**, don't know yet.

**Disorient  
****Chapter 3  
With a smile **

In the following days, some people came by. Trisha's neighbours and people who knew her from the village came _just to visit_ or to _see how the boys were doing_, all the while peering at Nicolas with undisguised curiosity. He tried to ignore it, and knew that Ed and Al were trying to do the some, but poor Trisha had to face the curiosity of her friends with a smile and understanding – and even to offer them coffee and cake when ever they came by.

"Nothing ever happens here, so this is the biggest news of the year," Ed muttered, after they had managed to make their escape from the kitchen to the study, where they sat down in the comfort and shelter of Alchemy. "Everyone will be coming here to gawk at you."

And probably to lament how horrible it was, and how Hohenheim had never told Trisha or something of the sort, Nicolas thought while taking one of the Xingnese books. "Well, maybe things will quiet down once they've satisfied their curiosity," he murmured, turning the page to an explanation of an array which wasn't quite alchemy, and which he didn't entirely understand. For some reason there were two exact same arrays and lot of arrows going between them with Xingnese text explaining the significance, which he had no way of understanding.

"I don't like it," Ed said stubbornly while Alphonse frowned anxiously at his side.

"Me neither, kid," Nicolas sighed.

Pinako and Winry visited them too, though thankfully they had a more friendly and honest reason to it. After introducing herself to Nicolas, Winry dragged Ed and Al with her outside, where the three of them went about exploring and playing. Nicolas got the impression that she did it just to make sure that Ed and Al didn't grow roots in the study, and for some reason that seemed rather nice to him.

He on other hand sat down with Pinako and Trisha, and talked about other things. "… nothing but bad news," Pinako muttered. "They haven't had much a chance to get a word through, but Sara called home the other day. Seems like it's going to keep on going for a while longer."

Trisha sighed. "I suppose things will get ugly there, before long."

Nicolas looked between them with some confusion. "Where?" he asked.

"At Ishval. There is a civil war going on there," Trisha answered with a sad smile.

"Sara and Urey, Winry's parents, are doctors who drafted to help at the war zone. They've been gone since last year," Pinako added, sighing and leaning back in her chair. "They probably would've gone even without the military demanding it. Hard headed humanitarians, the pair of them."

"I… guess that's hard on Winry," Nicolas murmured, thinking about the blonde girl.

"She's strong. She can manage it – and they do visit from time to time, when things are a bit calmer. Maybe eventually they'll stop going back, even," Pinako sighed and then gave him a look. "How are you settling in, Nicolas?"

"Well enough. Trisha has been very kind to me," he said, nudging at the glasses a bit, still getting used to them. "I've been reading through Van Hohenheim's study, it's been helping me remember."

"You know who you actually are now?"

"Well, no. But I remember more and more of alchemy every day," he answered and shrugged. "For now it's good enough for me."

"Well, I guess that's something," Pinako murmured. "Have you learned anything about time travel?"

Nicolas hesitated. He… hadn't really been looking for anything like that, when he had been reading, but… "No, nothing," he said honestly and rested his chin in his metal palm. "Time only figures into alchemy in terms of how long does deconstruction and reconstruction take, most of the time," he said. "If there is a study of the field of time in alchemy, I haven't encountered a single mention of it yet in Van Hohenheim's books."

"Hm. Well, keep at it," Pinako said. The conversation then turned to the flu going about in the village, and while Pinako and Trisha talked about poor Mr. Dyne who had been confined to bed, he thought about time and himself and about war. Ishval? He knew what it was, a bit, though most of what he knew came from what he had read in Hohenheim's books. War, though…

He had been part of military in the future – a State Alchemist, as one he had had the rank of a Major at least in the Amestris Military. Had he seen war, had he fought in one – or in several? Amestris had a fairly ugly history as far as fighting went, and there was his scarred body to consider. He had no bullet wounds in him, not that he knew anyway, but he had just about any other scar one could imagine, everything from burn marks to frostbites to being impaled by something.

Absently he wondered when he had joined the military in the future. How old had he been? And why, when the life in Resembool was so nice and quiet?

The answer to that, and all of the others of dozens of personal questions he had kept on eluding him, as day by day he progressed through the bookshelves, and remembered more and more of alchemy. He had been, he soon knew, pretty good at it. More than that – he had an almost terrifying knack for freeform transmutation and at times it felt like all he needed to do was slap his hands together to make it happen. He didn't, of course; only transmutation he had done so far was making of the glasses and then adding few adjustments to them, the hinges and some proper rubber padding to the temple and nose pieces and the like. But he felt like he could.

Especially if it was metal. Be it alkali, transition or post transition, or even lanthanides and actinides, he _knew_ them, he understood them. And he could probably make just about anything that came to mind from them – well, maybe not actinides, he didn't want to go touching radioactive metals, but the rest…

He had been in the past for about a week, when he stopped reading Hohenheim's library, and started skimming through it. He was starting to remember more and no longer needed to go through the pages word to word, but only needed to glance at free words here, array example there, and he remembered the rest. Some things he didn't know exactly – some medical alchemy parts took a little longer to internalise, making him wonder if he had ever known those, and he spent some time in energy inversion and expulsion and thermal reaction theories, but overall everything was coming back to him.

It was about that time that Ed and Al managed to master their paper crane transmutation – Trisha was suitably proud and showered the boys in praise for their accomplishment, sending them head long into new studies, both of them intending to make something else, something _better_, to make her even more proud.

"I guess that's it," he murmured, looking between the boys and Trisha. With that sort of enticement, no wonder he knew as much alchemy as he did. Even if most of it seemed to be oriented to blades and cannons and occasional pistols.

"You guess that is what?" Trisha asked.

"The reason why I'm an alchemist," he shrugged and looked at her past the frame of his glasses.

She smiled, looking after Edward and Alphonse. "I suppose. Though I think that would've happened even without me. There is something about Hohenheim's legacy that seems to make his children unimaginably brilliant." She laughed and turned to him. "Speaking of which, I got something for you," she added, and fetched something that, by the looks of the parcel, had came in the mail. "This is for you."

"I uh… thank you. What is it?" he asked, accepting it. It was angular, and rather heavy.

"You're not supposed to _ask_, Nicolas', you're meant to open it and see for yourself. That's the fun of gifts," Trisha laughed, and a bit embarrassedly he loosened the wrapping around the _gift_. It turned out to be a book, a very thick book with what looked like thousand or so pages. The cover said very little about it, and with some confusion he opened it.

It was a Xingnese to Amestrian dictionary.

"This must've been expensive," he said, giving her a wide eyed look.

"Not that expensive," Trisha answered. "You wanted to read those books, so I want to make sure you can. It's something family does, you know."

Nicolas nodded, swallowing. "Thank you," he said. "I will pay you back. Somehow."

"Stop saying that," she said, pushing a bit at his shoulder and smiling. "Now go and get to work – and make sure Al and Ed won't blow themselves up."

"Yes ma'am," he answered, and after one more glance at her, he turned and headed after Ed and Al – who were already browsing the _Introduction to Alchemy_ for more practice circles.

"What is that?" Edward asked, as Nicolas sat to his bed with the book in hand.

"Dictionary," Nicolas answered, flipping the thick book open and leafing through the first pages. "I want to be able to read those Xingnese texts, so I am going to see if I can teach the language to myself."

"Won't that be really hard?" Alphonse asked, standing up and coming to his side to see the introduction to the Xingnese hanzi. "It looks like something out of this world entirely," he said with amazement.

"I don't know. Alchemical symbols seem that way too, I bet, to most people, and we can understand them just fine. Well, for the most part," Nicolas said, and glanced at the shelf where Van Hohenheim's Xingnese books and scrolls were packed. He wanted to read them. More than he wanted to finish reading the rest of the library, he wanted to understand those books. All the alchemical symbols he had seen in them – and there had been plenty – were symbols he didn't know.

He wanted to, though, even if he couldn't explain exactly why. Because it was something even the Edward Elric he had been hadn't known? Maybe. Maybe wanted some knowledge that was his and his alone. Knowledge that only Nicolas Flamel knew.

"Hey, if you manage it, would you teach us?" Edward asked from where he was tracing an alchemical circle to the floor. A set-form transmutation, Nicolas noted – circle that could only be used to put together that was once whole, and not change it in any other way.

"Maybe," the youth said, straightening his slightly askew glasses absently and reaching for one of the notebooks Trisha had bought them. He would practice the symbols as he went along, he decided. That would probably speed the process along. "It might take a while."

"We have time," Ed said. "Al, come here, take a look at this."

"Ah, yes," the younger boy said, and hurried to his brother's side. Together they began puzzling the circle out while Nicolas started his self appointed task of learning the language of Xing.

x

"It's raining," Alphonse murmured, peering outside the study's window. "It's raining really heavily…"

"So it is," Nicolas agreed, while frowning at the papers scattered about him, in which he had practiced and made notes about the Xingnese language. Week into his studies and the system was very close to beating him. Though parts of it he was quite comfortable with – numbers of strokes and beautiful precision of having for entire words and concepts, that just soothed his alchemist's heart, used to think of symbols for entire concepts and philosophical and metaphysical issues…

But still, there were _hundreds of them_ to be memorised, thousands maybe, and on top of that the language itself was so, so… foreign. Nothing like Amestrian – even Xerxes had a language that was easier to learn.

"Mom and Ed aren't back yet," Al said, glancing back at him. Nicolas paused between comparing the notes of one elaborate symbol to another, and looked up, straightening his glasses as he did. The rain was beating heavily against the study window, thrown against it by the harsh wind.

"Hm. I suppose they are weathering it out in the village," he said and stood up, going to the window to look outside as well. The clouds were really dark, and there were some flashes of light in the distance. "And to think it was clear this morning," he murmured.

"Yeah," Alphonse murmured, frowning, and resting his chin on his arms as he leaned onto the windowsill. "Nick?"

"Yeah, Al?"

"What makes thunder?"

"Well, that's hard to say. Thunder is the sound of lightning, which is created when high and low pressure collide in the atmosphere," he answered, pointing at the sky. "Atmospheric electrostatic discharge is what it's called. Though there are other theories too, of course. Alchemy creates sparks too, so there's a long standing belief that lightning is a discharge of agitation left into the atmosphere by the discharges alchemic transmutations. And then there is the tectonic theory too…"

"Huh," Alphonse said, glancing at him. "Tectonic?"

"It's said to be where the power we use when we transmute things comes from. From the plate tectonics," Nicolas answered. "The planet's crust is always moving and pressure builds beneath it, when different plates of the crust push against each other – earthquakes and such happen, when it's naturally discharged. Alchemist, it's believed, use that sort of energy. And maybe lightning is it too, the sort no alchemist used and it escaped into sky instead."

"There are lot of theories. Which one of them is true?" Alphonse asked curiously.

"Who knows. No one's ever managed to go up there and actually take a look at lightning," Nicolas shrugged and then peered into the rain. "I think that's Trisha and Ed over there," he said, pointing. There was a flickering light on the road, coming slowly their way.

"I'll go welcome them home," Alphonse said, perking up and then dashing out of the room, leaving Nicolas alone. Chuckling after the boy, the Automail adorned youth stretched his arms. "So much energy, even on a day like this," he murmured, glancing at the armour and smiling. "Must be nice, don't you think?"

Shaking his head at the rain outside and at the silent armour, he followed Alphonse out of the room and downstairs. The boy had opened the front door, and some of the rain was being belted inside by the wind. "Al," he called. "Close that door, the rain's getting inside. You don't want your mom to come home only to find it taken over by puddles of rainwater, do you?"

"But they're almost here," Alphonse said.

"They don't get here any faster even if you give the hall carpet an impromptu wash," Nicolas said while walking closer. He was just about to pull the door shut, when he heard Edward calling from outside.

"Nick, Nick, damn it! Come here! Mum, she's… Come on, damn you! I can't get her up!"

Nick blinked with surprise and peered into the rain. When he saw them, he wasted no time – didn't even bother to get his boots or coat – and instead rushed to Edward and to the collapsed Trisha, who was coughing into her hand. "Trisha!" he called, at the sight of the woman on her knees.

"She fell and started coughing," Edward said in panicked voice over the roar of the rain and thunder, trying to get his mother to her feet again while holding a torch in his other hand. The rain was pelting down at them even harder, and in a moment Nicola's glasses were all blurry with the water. And it was even colder than he had realised when it soaked through his shirt, nearly freezing even.

"Come on," Ed snapped at him. "Help me get mom back to her feet!"

Looking between him and still coughing Trisha, the Nicolas made a quick estimation and then a decision. It would take entirely too long, to help Trisha walk. "Take the groceries," he ordered the boy, snatching his glasses off and thrusting them into his pocket, where they wouldn't hamper his vision. Then he unceremoniously hefted Trisha up and to his arms.

"I'm alright," Trisha said feebly, shuddering slightly in the rain despite her rain coat.

"Yeah, right," Nicolas answered, glancing at Ed to check that the boy had gathered the things they had bought from the village. Then he turned and hurriedly carried Trisha indoors, where anxious Alphonse waited, holding a bunch of towels and a scared expression.

"Al, go put a bath on – make it warm," Nicolas instructed the boy, while Ed closed the door behind them.

Trisha coughed and then gave him a firm look. "Nicolas, I am perfectly fine, you don't need to –"

"You're cold and there is a flu running amok around Resembool. Do you really want to risk it?" he answered. "Actually, never mind that, I'm not asking you," he added and glanced at Ed who stood by the door, shivering. "You need to warm up too; you're soaked to the bone. Come on."

Ignoring Trisha's objections, the bath was prepared. Nicolas would've dropped her into it if she hadn't given up at that point and promised to get into the bath herself, without help. Nicolas send Ed in with her after getting the boy's soaked clothing off, and while they warmed themselves up after the freezing rain, he set their clothing to dry and went about heating something warm for them to drink.

"Are they going to be alright?" Alphonse, who had been putting the groceries away, asked nervously.

"I'm sure they will, once they warm up a bit. Never you worry about that," Nicolas said, ruffling the boy's hair. "Come and help me make some tea and sandwiches for them. I bet they are hungry, after that."

Trisha and Ed were both in better state when they re-emerged from the bath, though Trisha was still shivering a bit, and didn't quite manage to quell her coughs. "I suppose I might've caught a cold," she admitted, when Nicolas nearly force-fed the tea to her.

"You should've stayed at the village until it cleared up," the youth said, sitting down. "How did the dentist appointment go?" he then asked, glancing at Ed who grimaced. The reason of the trip had been Ed's incessant complaining about a tooth ache, after all.

"He has a cavity in that tooth," Trisha answered for him and smiled at Edward. "This is what you get for not drinking our milk, Edward."

"Geh," the boy answered disgustedly and concentrated to his tea.

Nicolas looked between the two of them, then looking at Trisha, who looked a bit flushed. "I think I'll cook dinner tonight," he decided, much to everyone's surprise. He gave Trisha a firm look, while taking out his glasses again and drying them on the hem of his shirt. "You, I think, need to take it easy for a while," he added, nodding at her and pushing the glasses back on.

"Don't be silly, Nicolas. I am perfectly fine," she answered.

"Of course you are. But I'm still going to cook," he answered and folded his arms before giving Ed and Al a look. "A job for you two. You are you keep your mum from doing any work what so ever for the rest of the day."

Ed and Al exchanged a wide eyed look and then nodded seriously. "Yes sir!" they answered, and Nicolas smiled with some satisfaction, while their mother let out an exasperated breath.

The next day, after an extreme role reversal and having been coddled by her sons rather than the other way around, Trisha seemed much improved. She still was a bit flushed, and had a slight fever, but she stopped coughing. Even though the storm had blown itself out during the night, Nicolas still determinately did not let her go outside and enlisted the boys to keep her from trying, and instead took upon all the house hold tasks for himself, including washing laundry and such.

"You are being extremely overbearing you know," Trisha complained, after her sons had pressed yet another warm drink into her hands.

"I know," Nicolas answered a little smugly. "I think it does some good for all of us. The boys especially, it ought to teach them a thing or two about responsibility. Now, what would you like for dinner?"

Trisha sighed, but in the end her complaints were mostly half hearted, and she seemed more than a little warmed by the way her sons bustled about, taking care of her. "They're good boys," she murmured.

"That they are," Nicolas agreed.

His cooking maybe wasn't as good at Trisha's – or anywhere near as good, actually – but she still improved, and the fever was completely gone the second day. Ed and Al still kept on bustling around her, and fetching and carrying for her, until she finally got tired of having them constantly under foot, and unceremoniously kicked them out of the house and told to go find Winry and play a bit.

"I'm grateful, but enough's enough. And you too," she added, pointing a finger at Nicolas. "You've been cooped up in that study for nearly two weeks now. Go outside for a while, go visit the village, do something! You'll grow roots!"

"I suppose I should," Nicolas agreed, flexing his left hand. If he didn't exercise, his muscles would start waning, and he probably had trained his body for a reason – it wouldn't do to lose that edge, in case he would need it. "Perhaps I will visit the town. Do you need anything?"

"Just a little bit of freedom from overbearing children. Go away, Nicolas," she laughed, and almost pushed him out of the door.

Figuring that she deserved a moment to herself, he bend to her will and headed to the village, hoping that by now the rumours and whispers would've died down and people wouldn't look him down their noses this time. Or at least that when they talked about him, they would have the courtesy to do it behind his back, rather than in front of him.

"Oh, Nicolas!" a familiar voice called him, and he saw Pinako a little further down on the road. "I was just coming to see if I could find you. How good are you with your alchemy?"

"Decent enough I suppose. I have no way of telling if I'm good or not, I'd need something to compare myself to," he answered, blinking and pushing his hands into the pockets of his coat. "Why?"

"The storm knocked down some trees. One of the ones that got knocked about gave in and fell over last night and now phone lines are down. It would take us pretty long to fix them by ourselves," she explained. "So I was wondering if you could do something about it. Also, the roof of the clinic got trashed about a bit, and it ended up leaking."

"Phone lines and rooftops, huh," he murmured and then shrugged. "I suppose we don't know unless we try. Where are the phone lines that got cut of?"

"Near the train station – I'll take you there," Pinako said, and together they continued towards the village. "How are Trisha and the boys?"

"Ed and Trisha were outside in the storm, Trisha got a fever but it went down last night," he answered. "She kicked me and the boys out the moment she got better – I think she got tired of us, after I kept her inside until her fever went down," he added, and tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Ed and Al went to find Winry, I think."

Pinako gave him a curious look. "You kept her inside, huh?"

"Seemed like a thing to do," he answered.

She was quiet for a moment. "Remembered anything yet?" she asked, and he shook his head. "And yet you care for that family already."

"Of course. They've been taking care of me. And they are my family, even if I can't remember," he answered a bit awkwardly. "What else would've I done? Trisha has been doing so many things for me, it's just right that I pay her back a bit."

"Hmn. Good," the automail mechanic nodded with some satisfaction. "How do you get along with Ed and Al?"

"Not too badly, I suppose. It was a bit rough in the beginning, but I think they got over themselves," Nicolas answered.

They continued down to the village, and then past it to the train station. There were some people there, gathered around the place where the tree had crashed into one of the poles and brought down the phone lines.

"Ah, you got him," someone said, a man Nicolas didn't know. "Pinako says you're an alchemist. Is there anything you can do about this?" he asked, pointing at the tree which was just then being sawed into half with a chain saw. The pole it had knocked down seemed beyond help, though, it had cracked from the middle. The lines seemed to be still more or loess intact, though they had obviously been strained by the fall.

"Hm… maybe," Nicolas said, glancing along the line of poles that held the phone lines up. The ones at each side of the one that had fallen and cracked had been tugged out of order, and were now standing crookedly in their spots, being strained fallen pole and the lines in between them. He would probably need to straighten them all. That could be tricky.

"Let's get that tree out of the way first," he said, taking a broken branch and ripping the leaves and smaller branches of it, until he had a straight, plain stick. "Could you ask everyone to stand back?"

The man, looking curiously at him, did as ordered. It took some five minutes or so to draw a transmutation circle big enough to encompass the entire tree – and to make sure that it would affect only the tree, and not the telephone pole – but the result was satisfying enough. In flash of blue, the tree was instantly chopped into firewood and arranged into neat piles, leaving the area around the damaged pole clear.

"Alright, now," Nicolas said, turning to the pole while the people who had been engaged in the act of removing the tree gaped at the result of their instantly completed task. "This will be a bit trickier," Nicolas murmured, eying the strained lines and broken head of the pole, where the lines had came loose.

He went about fixing those first, while the pole was still lying more or less on the ground.

"I can fix the pole and the lines, but it needs to be standing upright for it," he said then, turning to look at the people around him. "Is there any way we can lift it up?"

"Yes, of course," the man who had greeted them said, and looked around. "Alright, people, let's find some ropes and get to work!"

It took about half an hour and the shared efforts of about twenty people but the pole eventually stood up on the spot where it had formerly been, supported by several ropes and people at each side, holding it steady. While they kept the pole up, Nicolas quickly sketched a set-form transmutation array around the pole's base, glancing up. The pole was high and he wasn't entirely sure how it would react, to being jerked back together again…

Well, one way to find out. Kneeling by the array he had drawn, he set his hands on it and activated it. The sparkle of bright blue immediately shot up. It sharply jerked the loose part of the pole and connected it back to the base, before running up and along the entire length, fixing all possible minute flaws the wood had in it. The sparks danced over the cables for a moment, reaching the poles at each side, before dying down.

"I think that should do the trick," Nicolas said, standing up and brushing the gravel off his knees. "Do you want me to straighten the other poles too?" he asked, glancing at them while wiping the transmutation array away with his foot. "They might fall on their own, if they're left like this.

"Please do. It would be pretty annoying to leave things like this only to find tomorrow that the other ones fell over too," Pinako said, and with a nod Nicolas straightened the other poles, paying some special attention to their bases. It would be one hell of a storm, which could pull them down.

"Ah, alchemy is really amazing," one of the villagers muttered, as they looked at the end result – what had formerly been a helplessly ruined sight.

"I imagine your father taught you?" one of the villagers asked, clapping Nicolas on the back. "Hohenheim was good at this sort of stuff too. Just amazing."

"Well, that's that," Pinako said, before the alchemist could say anything. "Come along, Nicolas. Let's get a cup of coffee before we head to the clinic and see what we can do about that roof. I'll buy."

"Thank you," he said, and quickly followed her before anyone could make any other remarks about his parentage, supposed or otherwise. "I guess I need to start coming up with a way to answer that sort of talk," he muttered.

"Maybe. Or you can just ignore them," Pinako answered. "It's up to you."

He nodded, and followed the short old woman to a café, where Pinako ordered coffee and some pastries for them. "Try them," she said, when he gave a considering look at the pastries, while carefully avoiding the bitter coffee. He had never had anything like the pastries, not as far as he could remember. Though considering that Pinako liked coffee… maybe he was better off.

"Stop being picky, brat. They're not bad at all," Pinako assured.

"Alright," he agreed, and tried one. She was right, they weren't bad.

"You need to get out more," the old woman muttered. "Do you still know anything but what you've seen or read so far?"

"Aside from alchemy, not much," he admitted. "But I've gathered that there's not that much to see, in Resembool."

"I suppose that's true," Pinako said, looking at him thoughtfully. "But you could just try asking people. Not everyone's spent all their lives cooped up in here. I, for one, have visited almost every major town and city in the country – and I've been around for long enough to know a thing or two that people don't write down."

"Really?" he asked suspiciously. "But you're so… diminutive."

"Who's diminutive, shorty?" she answered with narrowed eyes. "You've got the vertical growth of a twelve year old you know,"

"So says the mini hag," he answered automatically, before glancing at himself. He was a bit on the shorter side, though, wasn't he? Although… He looked at his sleeves, before holding his hands up straight. "I think I'm in a growth spurt, actually," he said. His sleeves didn't reach as far as they used to, neither his shirt's nor his coat's – and they had been just a little bit too long, when Trisha had bought them. He hadn't even realised that they had gotten so small…

"I wish you many of them, you need them if you want to grow up to be a proper man's height," Pinako snorted, and then gave him a more thoughtful look. "You do know that you will need to have your automail tuned if you grow, right?" she then said seriously. "It won't grow with you."

"Oh," he murmured, and looked at his right hand, comparing it to the left. Yes, the sleeve still reached further with his right hand, than it did with the left. "I guess that makes sense," he said.

"It's probably not important just yet, but eventually you might want to swing by the shop so that I can measure you and see what sort of adjustments need to be made," the old woman said and looked away as someone came in. Nicolas looked up as well, to an elderly woman in a shawl, who was… yes, she was _crying_, as she approached the counter and asked if the phones were working yet.

Pinako stood up. "Lucy? Lucy, is something wrong?" she asked, as she approached the other woman.

"Oh. Pinako?" the woman asked, wiping her face, only to have more tears trail down. "It's just… I need to call my son, he lives inEastCity, he ought to know – but the phone at the house doesn't work, and neither does the one at the clinic, and…"

"Lucy," Pinako asked sharply, taking the other woman's hand and squeezing. "Why are you crying, has something happened?"

"Oh. It's... Harold, he… he couldn't stop coughing this morning," the other woman, Lucy, said with strained voice, while trying to wipe her face. "I… I went to get the doctor, I… but, but when we got there, he…"

"Harold?" Pinako asked in shocked tone of voice. "He's…"

Lucy nodded through her tears. "They have him at the clinic right now, in the… I, I need to call our son, he needs to know – a-and I need to make arrangements…" she turned away, to look at the café's owner. "Please, tell me the phones are working now? I r-really need to make the call…"

While Nicolas watched, forcing himself to drink the bitter coffee while nibbling on the pastries, Pinako stayed at the other woman's side through the phone call, which sent Lucy only to cry harder. She was still sobbing, when she headed out, followed by Pinako who was away for some five minutes before returning, looking grim.

"I suppose Harold was her husband?" Nicolas asked.

"Yes. Harold Dyne, he's… he was the principal of the primary school here at Resembool," the automail mechanic said, frowning. "He's had that cold for better part of a month now. I guess it proved too much on him."

"Mr. Dyne? I met him once, with Trisha and the boys," Nicolas said, thinking back. He could just vaguely remember the old man and his cane. "He's dead…?"

"Yes," Pinako said darkly and then sighed. "Well, these things happen," she murmured. "Even cold can prove fatal, when you're too old to fight it. Finish your coffee, brat."

"Yes, ma'am," he answered, and did just that, trying to ignore the taste. "Do you think now is a good time to look into fixing the clinic roof?" he asked. "I can come back here later when… when it's better time."

"I don't think it will do anyone any good to wait, regardless of poor Harold," she answered. "Who knows when it will rain the next, and it won't do leaving the clinic leaking – there are sick people there, and left like that they'll just get sicker."

"Alright."

After Pinako had finished her drink and snack, they headed out again and to the clinic. There Nicolas found that there weren't just sick people in the clinic, but it was full of them. "It's this dratted influenza," the nurse who led them to the building's roof said. "Some get hit worse than others – few are so bad that they're delirious. Here, this is where it broke…"

"I heard that it was a bit aggressive. How bad is it?" Pinako asked, while Nicolas went about checking the hole on the roof.

"Pretty bad," the nurse said, folding her arms. "It's pretty contagious – some of the clinic staff already has it."

"That's grim," Pinako murmured. "Come on Nicolas, fix the roof and then let's be off. I don't want to catch a cold here."

"Yes, of course," he said, and took out a piece of chalk he had taken into carrying with him. The array was quickly drawn and the hole was instantly fixed, and soon they were heading back down. "It won't do anything to whatever water's already leaked down, but there won't be any more," he said to the nurse as they walked. "If I tried to do something about the water damage, I would probably make things worse, though. I'm not as good with liquids, as I am with solids."

"It's alright, we can handle the rest," the nurse answered with a smile before someone from the clinic called for her. "I need to get back to work," she said, and bowed her head at Nicolas. "Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Flamel."

"You're welcome," he answered awkwardly, and then followed Pinako out and to the street.

"Epidemic, huh?" Pinako murmured once they were outside. Scoffing, she took out her pope and put some tobacco in before igniting it with a match. "On top of everything else. It's not enough that there's war in the east, now this too? What a miserable world."

"Is it, really?" Nicolas asked, eying the clinic and wondering. Epidemic had an ominous ring to it.

"At times, very much so," the old woman sighed and then looked up at him. "Was there something you were intending to do, actually? Before I met you on the road, that is."

"Not really. Trisha just kicked me out, I figured I could get some exercise," Nicolas said and patted his chest. "I got a fighter's body and a fighter's automail, and I probably got them for a reason. So I think I should apply myself to keeping fit."

"So, you want to visit a gym then? The only one here is at the clinic, and that's for physical therapy more than anything else," Pinako said, glancing at the place they had just left behind. "I got some exercise equipment back home, though, for customers. If you want, I can let you have a try with them. I'll measure you at the same time; see if your automail needs adjusting yet."

"Really? I'd appreciate that, thank you," Nicolas nodded, and then followed the old woman away from the village and to the Rockbell Automail. There Pinako decided that yes, he did need some automail adjustments, but maybe not just yet.

"The ports are both in good order so far, so they don't need any work just yet, and I think the length difference between your real limbs and your automail is still manageable. If you're in middle of a growth spurt, we'd just need to adjust you again in little while if we did it now. Best wait a while and then see," the old mechanic said, while putting the measuring chords away. "We'll see again if you start limping before the month is out."

"Limping?" he asked with dismay.

"That's what happens, when one of your feet is shorter than the other," she grinned. "Now come on, I'll show you what sort of exercise equipment we have here."

The gym at the automail shop wasn't much – there was a rack for pull-ups and such, a bench and set of weights for bench pressing, some dumbbells as well as an exercise bicycle, but that was about it.

"I'm curious to see what you can do with that arm of yours. It is an interesting built, after all," Pinako said while showing him around the exercise room. "So have at it, brat."

"Why not," Nicolas agreed, while taking off his glasses and undressing his button up shirt, not wanting it to get sweaty. He ended up testing himself and the simplistic exercise equipment rather thoroughly in the following hour, though after some of the things he had already done, the results didn't surprise him. When he could carry woman of Trisha's size without all that much trouble, the fact that he could easily lift fifty kilograms without breaking a sweat wasn't that big of a surprise.

Pinako snorted while watching him. "One really has to wonder what kind of life you led, brat," she muttered, as he added some more weight, just to see what was his limit.

"Trust me, I'm wondering about it too," Nicolas muttered, before lying on the bench again, and getting ready to lift the loaded barbell.

He ended up showering in the automail shop before collecting Edward and Alphonse from the backyard, where they were explaining the importance of circles of bored looking Winry. "Hello, Mr. Nicolas," the girl said in a dull sort of voice. "How are you today?"

"I'm good," he answered amusedly. "How about you Winry?" she just sighed in answer, making him smile as he looked at the somewhat grumpy looking boys, who seemed mortally insulted by her lack of enthusiasm. "Well then, boys, as excited as Winry is about this, I think it's time we head back home. It's about dinner time, isn't it?"

"Oh, fine," Ed muttered, throwing the stick he had been using to draw away and sighing. "True knowledge is lost on the poorly educated," he lamented.

"Who are you calling poorly educated, you alchemy geek?" Winry asked, lobbing a stone at the boy who let out a grunt of complaint when it hit his belly. The girl harrumphed. "Just for that, I won't _ever_ tell you anything about the awesome invention grandma made just the other day. So _there_."

"Invention?" Ed asked and made a face. "Something to do with automail, right?"

"Of course something to do with automail! Automail is the handiest most practical form of mechanical engineering ever developed, it –" Winry started heatedly

"Yes, yes, yes, very true," Nicolas said, patting her shoulder. "But we really must be going, Winry. You can yell at Edward later, I promise," he said, making the girl harrumph again and then turn, and very dignifiedly walk back towards the house – while behind her, Ed stuck his tongue out at her.

"Brother," Alphonse muttered. "Stop being a jerk."

"I'm not a jerk. _She's_ a jerk," Ed answered, huffing and folding his arms as Nicolas begun pushing the pair of them to the front yard, and away from the automail shop. They continued grumbling, until Nicolas soothed them by asking what they had been trying to explain to her, and the three of them got into a discussion about why, exactly, was a circle so important in an alchemy array.

Trisha had the food ready and waiting for them when they made it home – mashed potatoes and sausages with steamed vegetables, absolutely delicious smelling. All of that was lost on Nicolas, who, upon entering the house, heard a sound that made his blood run cold.

While calling welcome and telling them to go wash their hands, Trisha was fighting back a hacking cough.

x

Trisha's fever returned the following day, and Nicolas confined her to the house once more. After that he gave the house's phone a try and called the clinic – just to check it out. He asked about the symptoms of the virus Mr. Dyne had, how long it had taken for him to deteriorate, things like that, before asking about possible medicine.

"It could just be normal cold," the nurse who had answered the phone told him. "Seeing that she was out in the storm. I'd suggest that you just wait and see – if she's still badly off in three days, then give us another call, alright?"

He had a bad feeling about it. Very bad feeling. Something about the whole thing made him feel like helpless child who didn't understand what was going on. Even as he took over the chores again and determinedly kept Trisha doing anything more taxing than visiting the bathroom despite all her objections, he still felt like he was doing nothing useful.

Trisha of course agreed with the nurse's assessment. "It's just a cold, Nicolas. It will probably go away faster if I can get some fresh air – and besides, it's not that cold outside," she argued with him.

"We'll see about that in three days," he answered stubbornly, and once more enlisted Ed and Al to the task of keeping their mother from trying anything taxing – a job at which they were now pretty skilled. He also eventually had the boys play their part with the chores – hanging the laundry up and washing the dishes and so forth was simply easier, with the boys lending a hand.

"Well, if you're going to insist, then I am going to insist giving you instructions at least. No offence, your food is edible, but that is about all it is," Trisha said when he took up the cooking as well. After that she sat, covered in blankets, in the kitchen table giving precise instructions to Nicolas about how, exactly, he should spice and stir and when to take the pot of the stove, and so forth.

It went so for a day, then another. The third day came with little improvement. The cough seemed to have eased with the chicken soup Nicolas had made, but the fever persisted – having climbed a degree or so since the start, and showing no signs of breaking.

"If it's like this tomorrow, I'm going to have a doctor see you, even if I have to drag him here against his will," he decided.

"When ever did you turn into such a ruffian?" Trisha asked with a feeble laugh and reached to pat his hand. "You're a good boy, Nicolas. You worry too much, but you're a good boy. Now worry about our food stores – at this rate, we will be eating nothing but porridge for the following week or so."

"That won't do, will it?" he sighed. He had noticed that lack too, but he had been avoiding the problem – he didn't want to leave the house just now. She was right, though. _And_ she needed more than porridge if she was ever to get better.

So, he had Edward and Alphonse promise that they would watch their mother very, very closely, before he took her wallet and pulled on his over coat. With Trisha telling her sons not to worry, that Nicolas was just being overly cautious and there was absolutely nothing to worry about, he headed out and towards the village.

The news he encountered there didn't make him any less cautious how ever. Three more people had perished to the epidemic since he had last heard – and there were more than five people at the stage, where the doctors believed they wouldn't live longer than few days. At the sound of that, he hastened to the clinic, where the nurses gave him a very grim image of the situation.

"It is much worse than we thought," she explained, looking worn and tired like she hadn't slept in days, which she probably hadn't. "Outwardly it doesn't look like anything more unusual than your average flu, but it attacks the respiratory system and puts enormous strain on the heart, especially when the fever rises. Few here simply stop being able to breathe properly, though one was put under so much strain that his heart gave out."

"How contagious is it?" Nicolas asked worriedly, thinking of Ed and Al.

"Fairly contagious to those who are susceptible to it. If you don't have it by now, though, you probably won't get it," she said. "We've estimated it's about only ten percent of the people who contract it, though we're not sure what, exactly, makes one likely to get it. Elderly and young and adults get it equally."

Nicolas nodded with a frown. "Trisha Elric, she's been sick for about week now – there was a one day in between when she seemed fine, but she had a cough, she's been feverish three days straight now," he said slowly. "Is it likely that she too has it?"

The nurse smiled sadly. "Can you describe the symptoms?"

There wasn't really much to describe. She was feverish and shaking, and coughed every now and then. The fever though was getting steadily up. "If it's only been a week or so... well, she would be at the early stages, and at that point it looks like normal flu," the nurse said. "I tell you what. I'll talk with the doctor here; see if he has a free period coming anytime soon. Maybe he can come and take a look and, hopefully, put your worries to a rest."

"I'd really appreciate that, thank you," Nicolas said, bowing his head slightly. He hesitated a bit and then he just had to know. "How... how bad it is, when they go?"

"Well. It depends. The one whose heart failed went smoothly, he just slept away. But those who stop breathing, it's... well, there are more painful ways to go, but it... it's not pleasant," she said quietly. "We're doing anything to ease the coughing in the end, but..."

"Thank you," he said again, and soon made his exit, feeling like he was wading through cold water, with the water coming to his waist up, freezing him. His automail felt like dead weights.

Somehow he got the groceries, he even found some cough drops somewhere along the way, before heading back home. Trisha, he was relieved to find, was alert and smiling when he came back, though her smile faded when she saw his serious look.

"Boys," she said to Ed and Al, who had been sitting at her feet, reading an alchemy book. "How about you go put the groceries away?"

Edward and Alphonse looked up top Nicolas for guidance, and he nodded, waiting until they were gone. He carefully closed the living room door, before walking up to her. He felt like he too would've rather liked to sit at her feet and just... be a child, without this knowledge inside his head.

"There is an epidemic going on in Resembool," he started awkwardly. "Four people have died to it already, Mr. Dyne and three others. It... It looks like a cold, but apparently it does something to the lungs and..."

Trisha blinked slowly at that and then reached her hand out. He took it rather desperately into his left hand and fell to his knees at her feet, shaking. "Nicolas," she said slowly. "It can be just a cold, you know?"

"I-if it's such a cold, then why am I so terrified?" he whispered, holding her hand to his chest. It felt clammy in his hand, the fingers cold. "I-I feel like _I'm _the one who can't breathe."

Trisha said nothing for a moment. Then she shifted, freeing her hand from his hold. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and rested her forehead against his hair, holding him. "Well then," she murmured, swallowing. "Well."

Nicolas said nothing, shuddering and feeling like he was the reason for this – like he, just by saying it out loud, had proclaimed her death sentence. "I visited the clinic," he said. "The nurse said that... that she'll try and see if the doctor there has time to see you. W-we will know more then."

"And if it is this epidemic, how much time do I have, precisely?" she asked, stroking her hand over his braided hair.

"I-I don't know. Mr Dyne was sick for little over two weeks, I think, before he..."

"A week then," she murmured and was quiet for a moment, thinking. As he pulled back a little, to look at her, he found her eyes alert and thoughtful. Against all odds, she smiled at him. "It still might be just flu, but… I think we ought to make some preparations, just in case," she said, and patted his cheek, smiling. "Could you call for Pinako? Tell her about this. She'll know what to do."

He desperately wanted to object, like it would make any difference – like having _not_ made any preparations would keep her alive. Instead, he nodded, straightening his glasses and trying to gather his composure. "I will," he said and stood up. He just managed to do it without his knees visibly shaking. "Is there anything else, Trisha?"

"Pinako will know," she said with certainty and smiled at him. "You're a good boy, Nicolas."

He swallowed and nodded, and then went to get the phone.

Pinako and Winry came some hour or so later – with the local solicitor. While Winry and the boys played in the backyard, the adults, with Nicolas included, sat down in the living room, and Trisha, Pinako and the solicitor made preparations.

"At this point I have to accept the fact that there is no telling when Van will be coming back, and that when he will, I won't be here," Trisha started. "I can't leave my children to that sort of odds, not when there is very real likelihood that he won't come back in decades – he is... like that."

"I can take care of the boys, Trisha," Pinako promised. "They're just two more brats in a big house, we'll do fine."

"I'm sure you could," Trisha agreed with a smile, but she was looking at Nicolas. "I think that will work well enough as a back up plan, in case something comes up, but I think they will need their brother a little more, than the neighbour grandmother, don't you think? I mean no offence, Pinako, but you have Winry, and your work – and the boys need more than attention that's already divided as it is. Nicolas is good with the boys, and can take care of them."

Pinako frowned and glanced at Nicolas, who turned his gaze down and at his knees. He knew what she was thinking – because he was thinking it too. He was living on borrowed time here, after all. What if he remembered tomorrow, and then would be gone the day after? Who would look after Ed and Al then?

"How about joint custody?" he offered then. "I'll probably need all the help I can get. Me and the boys will live here, in this house, but if something happens... And in the end, Pinako will also have say in matters."

Trisha considered it, and then nodded. "That will do, yes," she decided.

She also had her will redrawn. She left her worldly possession to Ed and Al, but Nicolas would have the control over them until the boys would be old enough to manage them – and Nicolas also got his own share of her money, so that he would be able to manage and care for the boys. The reason for the will was clear, as it turned out that Trisha owned more than just the house and the surrounding grounds, a whole lot more.

Trisha, it turned out, was among the wealthiest women in Resembool, if not _the_ wealthiest. It was no wonder how she could manage a house with herself, two boys and Nicolas with so little care for expenses. "It's Van's money, mostly," she explained. "He... well. He has had a long time to gather up his fortune, and when he left, he left most of it to us."

"You're good at keeping things secret, milady," the solicitor said, having gone a little wide eyed at the sums they had been just discussing.

Trisha just smiled.

In the end, the will was finished, signed and sealed, to be re-opened the day of her death. With everything settled, Pinako escorted the solicitor out, while Trisha looked at Nicolas thoughtfully.

"That, though, only covers the surface affairs," she murmured. "There is a lot I need to tell you before the end, Nicolas. Things your father told me, which I would tell Ed and Al, if they were only older. Which I think you, more than them, need to know."

"Alright," he agreed, swallowing.

She didn't tell him then or even that entire day. Pinako and Winry stayed up until fairly late, and by the end of the day Trisha was so tired that she didn't even argue when Nicolas carried her upstairs and to her bed, long before Ed and Al were anywhere near enough tired to go to sleep.

"Nicolas," they asked him nervously, after he had closed the door of Trisha's and Hohenheim's bedroom, leaving her to rest. "Is mom going to be alright?"

The automail adorned youth eyed the boys for a long moment, wondering how safe it was to tell them. Anyone would've lied at this point – they didn't even have a confirmation, there was still a chance that it was just flu and the doctor would pronounce that she'd be healthy in few days…

He should, it was the adult thing to do, but… He sighed. They deserved to know, and have the time to prepare themselves. "Come along boys," he said. "Let's leave your mom the rest. We'll talk downstairs."

He told them as gently and carefully as he could, and they took is as badly as he had expected. For a long moment they just stared at him with disbelief. "B-but the doctor hasn't come to see her, maybe it's not like that at all?" Alphonse asked, sounding a little desperate.

"It might not be," Nicolas agreed. At this point, he held no hopes. His heart was already broken by this, it knew what was coming. It could _remember_ it.

"I-is there anything alchemy can do?" Edward asked hopefully.

Nicolas frowned and then sighed. He was no specialist of medicinal alchemy, he knew that much. And… a disease that attacked the lungs, that was something he doubted even alchemy could do much about. If medicine didn't, then neither could alchemy – medicine was, in the end, still much better than alchemy at curing illnesses.

There was something there though, in that desperate little question. Something dark and red and _dangerous_, something he needed to put a stop to before it came to be anything but a stray thought – before it became a notion and a conviction and a _goal_.

"No, I don't think so," he said slowly, and reached out to take the boy's hands, Alphonse's in his left, Edward's in his right. "Everyone dies," he said, making the boys flinch. He held on, though, because this needed to happen now – he needed to make the boys accept it, and not think of it something that could be stopped or, god forbid, changed. He didn't know why, but he knew it was vitally important.

"You know it happens," he continued. "You, me, everyone, all of us. Be it tomorrow, or half a century from now… we all go in the end. Humans are mortal by design. We _all_ die. Even your mom."

"But mom…" Alphonse started with a grimace.

"Your mom's time is coming up," Nicolas said. "I know what you're thinking. I'm thinking it too – none of us want to lose her, she's too special. But her time is coming up," he said firmly and then he had a spark of inspiration, and clung to it. "And we can't think of ourselves."

Al let out a sniffle, and tears begun trickling down his cheeks, while Ed swallowed heavily, and wiped at his eyes.

"These will be Trisha's last days on this world. She will be going soon, somewhere else where, who knows where… and she won't be coming back," Nicolas continued, and squeezed their hands. "It's up to us to make her last days here as good as possible. Let's not think of what we're losing, alright? Instead let's think of what she's losing."

"She's going to lose her _life_. I don't want mom to die," Edward hissed while his brother nodded firmly.

"I know, me neither," Nicolas agreed. "But it's going to happen and there is no stopping it. So, let's make sure she goes happy, alright?" he looked from one boy to another. "I want her to be happy and satisfied and sure that she's no leaving things undone. Right?"

They stared at him uncomprehending and he smiled. "If you were to die tomorrow, what would you want to know today?" he asked quietly. "For example, I would want to know that you two would be alright, and that you would grow up to be as good men as you are boys."

Ed and Al shared a look, their eyes wide and then thoughtful. Nicolas nodded to himself, sure that he had gotten his message across. He squeezed their hands again. "It's up to us to make sure she knows that it's alright, that we're going to be alright and that everything will be fine, and that she shouldn't be sad," he said. "She's going. Let's make sure she goes with a smile."

x

The doctor's visit in the following day just confirmed what Nicolas and everyone connected already knew. Trisha had the disease, and her time was running out. When asked if they would like Trisha to be moved to the clinic, Nicolas declined – Trisha had already decided that she'd much rather die in her own bed and in her own house, rather than in a cold hospital room.

"We've already made arrangements," Nicolas said to the man when he suggested that they'd prepare for the inevitable – no one who had contracted the epidemic had recovered. They had already lost six people, and it was only matter of time before more died. "Is there anything we can do to make sure that she… that it is painless, the end?"

"Do everything you can to keep her from coughing," the doctor instructed him. "Warm drinks, tea with lots of honey and maybe some lemon, cough drops, the like. It won't stop it, but maybe that way her lungs might hold on a little longer and it will… well, the heart is put under great strain too, and it is quite bit less painful that way."

Nicolas nodded. He asked few more questions – how was it in the last days, would she become delirious, should he keep the boys away in case it got ugly, and so forth. But, it seemed, all the patients so far had been alert and clear minded until the end, which was good.

After that, it was just matter of time. It was painful, horribly painful, to watch her weaken day by day until, two days after the doctor's visit, she collapsed in the kitchen. After that, she didn't have the strength to move much, and had to stay in bed day in and day out, with Nicolas helping her to the bathroom when she needed – which, with her appetite waning, was rarely.

Ed and Al cried, a lot, but only in privacy. When ever they were with their mother, they were all dry eyed and full of smiles. They performed the little alchemy they could for her amusement and amazement, making little wooden toys and trick boxes and, in one especially spectacular feat, both turned entire piles of papers into paper cranes which busted into being in flutter that almost looked like a entire flock of miniature birds had taken flight. Trisha, sitting on her bed surrounded by paper cranes, laughed and clapped and proclaimed it amazing, and soon the boys came back with more, desperate to hear her laugh again.

They talked about alchemy and the things they would do, what they would become. Alphonse proclaimed fervently that _he_ would learn medicinal alchemy and become a doctor, and he would be one of the best if not the best in the world. Edward admitted that he probably wouldn't be as good as Al with that, so instead he would study other things, he didn't know what just yet, but he would be good too. Better than Al, certainly.

"That's good, boys," Trisha said, hugging them feebly. "Just like daddy's boys ought to be. Mommy is so proud of you, so, so proud."

She could probably hear them wailing into Nicolas's shoulders the later, when watching her withering became too much for them, but she never said anything about it.

"They are so brave," she told him one night, near the end, when the boys had tired themselves by acting strong for her and then crying themselves to sleep. She was tired too, no doubt, her fever was high enough to make strong men buckle, but she was still fighting to stay alert. "They are going to be alright, aren't they?" she asked quietly. "And you too, of course."

"We will be perfectly alright, trust me," he promised, biting his tongue to force his own tears back. She looked so weak, so feeble, shivering in the cold heat of the fever. It was especially painful since he had seen her take all sorts of medicine that Resembool had to offer – and none of them had done _anything_ to help her. "I'll take care of them," he swore. "And they'll take care of me. It'll work out."

"Yeah, it will, won't it?" she murmured and then looked at him with a smile. "Now," she said. "I think it's time I tell you about your father. Tell Ed and Al when they're older, if Van never comes back."

"I will," he promised, looking at her curiously, wondering why Hohenheim, who wasn't even there, was so important at this moment. To him, Hohenheim was nothing but a man in a picture, but to her he was so much more, so he figured that he might as well humour her. She deserved all the humouring she could get, right now.

"Do you know about Xerxes?" Trisha asked.

Nicolas nodded slowly, not having been expecting that. "A country that was destroyed a single day," he answered. "They say that it's where alchemy came from, that Xerxesians were the first to use it – and that the Sage of the East was from there, only survivor of the destruction, and that he was the one who taught Alchemy to Amestris."

He had read that in Hohenheim's books, and remembered some of it too. Most of it was probably just some old story blown out of proportions, but he had been curious about this event that had destroyed entire nation over night, since that was actual recorded historical event… but that was about it and he couldn't really see how it was important now.

"Van is from Xerxes," Trisha said and then looked at him, waiting for his reaction.

He blinked and then eyed her, trying to see how serious she was. Very serious, it was – she believed every word she spoke. "From… Xerxes?" he asked then.

"Yes. He is among only two survivors who walked away from the day of destruction," Trisha agreed.

"Huh," Nicolas hummed with some disbelief. "Wouldn't… that make Hohenheim over four hundred years old?" he asked slowly, wondering if it was true, or if she believed in a lie. "How is that possible?"

"Well, that is a long story. I don't know all of it, of course, Van didn't tell me the exact details," she sighed, and leaned her head back. "There is a substance in alchemy that grants incredible power, he told me. It's called the Philosopher's Stone. It's a terrible, monstrous creation, not as much the pinnacle of alchemy as its lowest point."

"I've…" Nicolas said, and then froze. He had read about it, in passing, and it had sparked some vague memories, but he hadn't really paid much attention to it any more than he had paid to the Sage of the West portion of Xerxes' destruction. It seemed little more than a myth then, an alchemical fairy tale.

But those words, the _lowest point of alchemy, terrible monstrous creation_, did more than spark memories. Gasping softly, Nicolas clasped his hand over his forehead, knocking his glasses askew as the knowledge revealed itself, rising from it's slumber inside his mind like some sort of awakening beast – the arrays, the science, the equations… the necessary resources.

It hurt to remember it. It actually physically _hurt._

"I remember," he whispered, seeing the transmutation circle inside his head, his mind pointing exact spots where the sacrifices, no, the _material_ ought to go_._

"Nicolas?" Trisha asked.

"I remember Philosopher's Stone. I know… I know how they're made," he whispered, his eyes wide as he lowered his shaking hand. He felt dizzy, he felt ill, he felt like throwing up. Blinking, he looked up to her as he recalled just what they had been talking about. "Philosopher's stone. I-is that how Van Hohenheim…?"

"There is a bit more to it, I'm afraid," Trisha said with a sad smile.

x

When Trisha finally faded away, it was the evening of a windy day. Everyone of Trisha's few friends from the village had came by in the previous days, Pinako and Winry included with Trisha and the old woman exchanging some private words, but that day no one came. Instead Trisha spent the day surrounded by her sons, who entertained her with funny stories, about how Ed had once fallen into a brook and how Al had given a transmuted horse two heads and things like that.

Nicolas hovered by the bed, a little unsure about his welcome on these final, crucial moments, but unable to leave her, not now. Trisha wasn't coughing, he thought with some obscure relief in those final hours, the thought coming to him over and over. Trisha wasn't coughing – it would be painless and quiet. She wasn't coughing.

Then, in middle of Al's accounting how Winry had hit Ed with a spanner once and how they had argued until they were both red at the face, Trisha's eyes fell slowly shut. A little after that, while Ed argued that he hadn't been red faced and that it had just been Winry getting all worked up because he had called her uncute, their mother's breathing evened… and eventually stopped.

Silence fell as the boys who had been desperately filling the air with their happy chatter both quieted down, and just looked at her. After a long moment of breathless, choked silence, Edward and Alphonse finally looked up with their eyes glistening, at Nicolas who nodded sadly.

Together they pulled the blanket over her peacefully smiling face.

xx

AN; Wasn't going to upload this so quickly, but I seriously need some cheering up, and reviews sometimes do that. Even if it's a somewhat wrong sort of chapter to hope to get some cheering comments to.

Fair warning; this might end up having a slash pairing for Nicolas. I dunno yet. I will know once the story gets that far. If it does. (Also, Slash means male x male sort of pairing. You know. Just in case there is some confusion about that.)

My apologies for possible grammar errors. If this has words randomly glued together, its ffnets fault, it does it own editing.


	4. Solving Issues

Warnings; Spoilers, time travel, amnesia, death of character, etc. FMA manga and Brotherhood based, has nothing what so ever to do with 2003 anime. **Will have slash.**

**Disorient  
****Chapter 4  
Solving issues **

The funeral was simple and elegant – two men from the village played a sad melody with violins, and everyone was solemn and quiet. That was about as much as Nicolas remembered of the affair, aside from the fact that the corner of the casket dig into the flesh of his shoulder as he and five men from the village carried it. If there was a wake or reception of some sort before or afterwards, he and the boys never attended to them.

"Nick?" Al had asked him, when they had been left alone in front of the recently covered grave, all the other guests leaving respectful space around the mourning children and the youth whose hands they were clinging to. "What happens to people when they die?"

"Well, that's… I can give you the alchemist's answer, I suppose," Nicolas had answered, kneeling besides the sombre boys and wrapping his arms around them. Then, as the three of them had eyed the name _Trisha Elric_ carved to the grave stone with the years of her birth and death beneath it, he had told them.

The body decayed and bacteria and maggots and the like ingested it. Other creatures then ingested the maggots, birds and rodents, which in turn got ingested by beasts or by others of their kind. Eventually, parts of body would go the earth and become dirt and eventually things would grow out of it. Few years from now, the grave would be covered with grass that had grown from Trisha's energy. In long series of natural transmutation, Trisha would change, develop and become part of the world.

It wasn't exactly a comforting way of putting it, and as far as soul went he could only say; "Well, I think that goes to the earth too. Or who knows, those eastern religions might be right, and it goes to heaven or hell. If there are such places, I'm sure Trisha is in heaven right now, there's no one more deserving than her."

He could've done better, definitely. But it seemed to comfort the boys a bit, and they all went through the ordeal without shedding too many tears – the violin duet nearly destroyed Nicolas, though. He hadn't heard much of music yet, and hadn't realised how awfully heart breaking people could make it. It fit Trisha perfectly, though – even after he heard that it was a more elaborate version of an old lullaby that mothers in Resembool sang to their children.

The difficult part about the whole thing came the day after – when everything was said and done and suddenly, they realised that it was just three of them in the house. Trisha wasn't there to say good morning, or tell them to get down to breakfast, or scold them from trekking mud all over the freshly washed floors – she wasn't there to pat Ed's head proudly when he managed some new transmutation, or to kiss Al's hurts all better when the boy fell.

The house felt empty, cold and almost uninviting – and for the first time since Trisha had taken him, the youth felt like an intruder in the house.

"This won't do, though, will it?" he muttered. The lack of Trisha packed quite a blow, but it wasn't hitting him nearly as bad as it hit the boys, who woke up bleary eyed and remained vacant thorough the morning, and seemed to just barely have enough energy to stand. They kept glancing at the chairs she used to sit and places she used to work – when they found Nicolas working at the stove instead of her, they looked almost angry about it, though whether they were angry at him or themselves, he didn't know.

It wouldn't do. The more they would wallow in it, the more it would hurt for them, and it hurt badly enough as it was. They needed a distraction, something to draw their eyes away from the empty places just long enough for the reality to settle and things to become… normal again.

So, while attending to the chores which were all his now, and trying to figure out how to keep Trisha's superior cooking alive somehow, he gave glances towards alchemy. It seemed like a good solution, so he started making a schedule for training and learning – he would distract the boys by teaching them what they had promised their mother they would learn, that ought to keep all of them from prodding at their internal hurts.

"Alright," he said, about a week after the funeral, with his schedule somewhat done and a bit of a plan in his head. "It's about time we start. Ed! Al! Come here; let's clear a space in the back yard."

The boys, looking confused and a bit apprehensive, came with him, and together they took rare toys and tools away, clearing a fairly large circular area in the background. While the boys watched with interest, Nicolas took some good sized rocks he had collected from the field, and placed them onto strategic points on the cleared space, before using a stick to carve an alchemical circle around them.

In a flash, the grass was gone, covered by a round slate dark grey rock about five metres in diameter, completely smooth from the surface. Satisfied, Nicolas stood up again and looked at the little stone covered field he had made and then at the boys. "We'll be practicing alchemy here from now on," he said, tapping the slate with his foot. "It'll be much safer out here, than inside house where we might affect the integrity of the building."

Ed and Al, curious despite themselves, stepped forward and to the slate, looking down to it. "Practice alchemy?" Ed then asked, looking up at him.

"You've been doing pretty well so far by yourselves, but you need some guidance. I'm a bit further ahead than you two, so I figure I might as well see what I can do about it," he agreed, and then scratched the back of his head, walking around the round slate. "I don't know how good a teacher I will be, but I ought to be able to give you pointers about the basics at least."

For a long moment the boys were quiet, looking at him and then glancing at each other – giving him the strong impression that they could see right through his little ploy. "I guess you're right," Al then said, and somehow he looked a little relieved as he took in the slate where they would be sketching their transmutation arrays until some unforeseeable future.

"Nick," Ed then said, folding his arms and giving Nicolas a firm look. "You waddle when you walk, did you know that?"

"Waddle?" the elder male asked with disbelief.

"Yeah. Like this," Edward nodded, and did a very exaggerated imitation of a limp, walking around the circle and swinging his upper body awkwardly from side to side, before flashing Nicolas an impetuous grin. "I've seen ducks waddle with more grace," he added.

"_Waddle_?" Nicolas asked again, now feeling a bit injured. "I do not waddle!"

Al and Ed exchanged a look and then Al nodded solemnly. "I'm sorry, Nicolas, but you do," he said, and folded his arms. "It's becoming more obvious each day too."

"You brats," Nicolas snapped at them and pointed a finger at Ed while reaching for the chalk he had in his pocket. He'd show them who _waddled_. "Lesson one, don't mess with the teacher."

He had to remake the slate afterwards, but somehow the air was cleared after he had chased Ed around a bit with hands and fists of stone, and strung Al to a tree on a stone rope. Some of the oppressive silence was gone, even when none of them was saying anything, and that was a great victory on its own.

However, before the real lessons begun, Nicolas made an appointment with Pinako. He did not _waddle_, but he did have a limp that was growing more pronounced each day, that much was true, and he figured that if he wanted to keep up with the brats, he needed all his limbs in order.

Changing automail limbs was absolutely terrible, though making him really wonder what his past self had done, to get the damned things. They could be handy, but the reconnection of nerves… he really could've done without it.

x

In the days while Nicolas waited for his leg and arm to be readjusts and _hobbled_ – according to Edward – around in spare automail from the shop, they started with the alchemy. The basics of Alchemy array came and went, and they covered the basics of set-form and freeform transmutation in an hour, before swinging back to more detailed concepts of arrays. Rings to bind and transfer powers, angles to refract them and combine them, triangles for pre-set transmutation, squares for more freely bendable shapes, pentagons for energy, hexagons for elemental transmutations, heptagon mainly for medicinal alchemy and so on.

"What makes them specifically for those purposes?" Alphonse asked, as they had gone from heptagons to octagons and nonagons and were just about to get to decagons.

"How they divide and transfer the flow of power," Nicolas explained. "An equilateral triangle is the best for fixing things, because the energy doesn't decay as much as it travels through it – it keeps its form from finish to the end. It gets a trickier with more sides and angles in the array. So far you've been working simple ones with very little energy decay, but once you get to anything over a pentagon, the decay starts showing itself."

"I didn't know alchemical energy could decay," Edward muttered, folding his arms.

"Well, decay is maybe a wrong word. There are affecting factors – how well the circle is drawn, what it is drawn on, how much power it is activated with," Nicolas said, drawing a complex decagon based array with a isotoxal decagram inside it, as well as some other elements. "The optimal array is one that has instant activation in all of its vectors," he said, pointing the circle surrounding the decagon, and then the inner isogonal decagon of the decagram. "However, the more the power has to travel, the longer it takes it to get to the centre, hence the decay. That is usually the reason for most of alchemical discharge – the decay forces the alchemist to push more energy into the array and lot of it is simply wasted."

"Huh," the elder of the Elric brothers muttered and then eyed the array. "What is this one for?" he then asked curiously.

"It's a small piece of a subatomic transmutation array," Nicolas shrugged. "It's arrays like these that are used to transmute one element into another. The famous lead to gold, for example."

"Does this one transmute lead to gold?" Al asked with his eyes wide.

"No. When fully fleshed out, it transmutes nickel into platinum, actually," Nicolas answered. "But I would have to spent about two days sketching out the details and symbols, and add two other layers into it to get to that point – and then it would probably blow up in my face," he added ruefully. "Subatomic transmutations aren't exactly safe. They're illegal for a good reason."

"I thought it was just transmuting gold that was illegal," Edward said.

"I'm pretty sure it's all subatomic transmutation. If it's not, then it should be. Except maybe for some specialists, normal alchemists shouldn't go about chopping atoms to bits, it tends to unleash energies very few have the capabilities to handle," the eldest of them answered. "But I guess we're getting a bit ahead of ourselves," he muttered, scratching his hairline. "Let's go back to polygons and their properties, shall we?"

From polygons they went into vectors and how polygons could be divided and how it affected the outcome, and from there they from equilateral to quadrilaterals in their many forms and from there finally to star polygons, which led way to combining shapes, using established patterns to create transmutations.

"If you want to combine two elements into one," Nicolas continued explaining, while sketching out a new pattern to the ground. "Or separate them. For example two hydrogen atoms and one oxygen, to form water. What you would use would be triangles for the most part, in a double circlet, but with a twist. In their most common state, both hydrogen and oxygen are airborne, so upstanding triangle divided by a line near the base, the general symbol for air and matter in gas form…"

As he continued to explain, sketching the circle as he went, the boys first followed the pattern keenly, then started giving each other sidelong glances, until finally they stopped completely and just stared up at him. He stopped in middle of explaining the symbol of water – and liquids in general, which was plain equilateral triangle standing on its tip – and looked back at them.

"What?" he asked.

"You're going too fast," Alphonse complained.

"It's only an example, I'm not expecting you to memorise this. Just to know how it's done so we can move along," Nicolas said.

"Still, way too fast. You suck, Nick," Edward said, giving him a face. "Even our useless dad's a better teacher and _he's not even here_."

The eldest of the three paused and glanced at the circle he had been drawing. "Well, I suppose it's a bit technical," he murmured, running his flesh fingers through his hair and then shaking his head. "I guess this is as good time as any to end this for today. We'll continue tomorrow."

"We will?" Alphonse asked, looking partially excited and partially worried.

"Well, not if you don't want to," Nicolas answered, glancing at the two of them. "I thought you'd be happy to get some instructions with this."

"Not when you go about talking about subatomic transmutations and making water from air and stuff. We can barely make a crane out of already existing paper, give us a break here," Edward said, and stood up, patting the chalk dust from his knees. "I'm hungry," he then announced.

"Ah. Right. I guess I lost the track of time," Nicolas said a bit guiltily and stood up. "Alright. Let's see what food we can make."

If the lesson did little to truly educate the two boys, who muttered something about not knowing the difference between isogonal and isotoxal through the dinner, it did bring them a bit closer as family, if that was what they could be called. Since Trisha's death, Nicolas had been listening, nightly, how the boys sobbed themselves to sleep, but that night the pattern changed. While he was looking through his lesson schedule, trying to figure out what he ought to change to ease the pace a pit and make it closer to the boy's levels, a knock sounded through the study door.

It was Alphonse – with Edward following closely behind him. "Nick?" the younger boy asked, hugging a pillow to his chest and looking a bit hesitated. "I… I can't sleep. Can I… Can _we_…" he glanced at Ed, who was holding a comforter, then back at Nicolas who was lying on his stomach on the floor, and didn't continue

"Can you what?" Nicolas asked and then realised, "oh. Right. Well," he glanced at his unmade _bed_ thoughtfully. It wasn't much more than a mattress, pillow and comforter really, and not all that big all things considered. "I don't think I'll be left much space if you want to sleep here," he said, and pushed himself up and to his knees, while the boys shared a silent, disappointed look. Nicolas smiled at that, walking over to them and patting their heads. "Let's go get another mattress," he said.

It made the study a bit crowded, when Nicolas' mattress was joined by another, but he didn't much care as the boys snuggled into it, staring at him sleepily as he continued to write notes to himself. They seemed comfy – and neither of them was crying, and that was a victory on its own.

"Don't complain about the light, since you were the ones who wanted to sleep here," he warned them, as they continued to stare at him as he worked.

"We won't," Alphonse promised with a yawn, his eyes already half shut.

"What are you doing?" Edward asked.

"Trying to figure out a best way to teach you two," Nicolas answered and turned a page on the book, to sketch up another idea down. Maybe start with basic chemical reactions, rather than alchemical ones…? "I don't think my original plan works that well."

"No, you suck," Ed snorted in agreement, and then gave him a sleepy, thoughtful look. "How about we find stuff we want to try and you explain how?" he offered then. "Besides, don't you have the Xingnese stuff to study?"

Nicolas hesitated. He did, didn't he? And not just that, but there was Xerxes too and Van Hohenheim. He had pushed all that aside when Trisha had… well, he had other obligations and duties now, and he couldn't be selfish and go about doing what ever he had, when there was Ed and Al to consider. Investigating the things Trisha had told him was important but… not as important as Ed's and Al's wellbeing.

"I can do that later," he said. "Right now I just want to make sure you get what you want. It's what I'm supposed to do."

Edward said nothing for a moment, while Alphonse's eyes drifted shut and his breathing evened. "You don't need to work so hard," the elder of the two children then said in quiet tone. "We know you're trying already. Don't wear yourself out."

"I'm not," Nicolas said, glancing at the boy and then pausing at the sight of young Edward's serious golden eyes, staring up at him. He sighed and smiled, wondering if he really had been like this serious, explosive little boy was. "Well. I guess we're not in any hurry," he murmured, and closed his note book before coming to the bed and lying down on the space left for him there. "We can figure it out together," he said, taking off his glasses and setting them on the floor beside the mattress.

"Yeah," Edward said with a yawn. "Blow out the candle, will you?"

"I told you not to complain about the light."

"But you're going to bed too, aren't you? You don't want to burn the house down do you?" the boy asked, settling down and closing his eyes. "Mom always said to be careful not to play fire…"

Nicolas paused at that, glancing at the boy. Edward had already fallen asleep, though, and was completely oblivious to his stare. He let out a small chuckle, saying, "I suppose you're right. Good night, Edward, Alphonse," and blowing out the candle. "Sweet dreams."

x

The big Trisha-shaped hole remained there, almost tangible and omnipresent, but it seemed that Ed and Al managed to work their way around it. They stopped constantly frowning and starting into nothingness, and even smiled. They also returned to studying alchemy on their own without Nicolas' insistence, and while he went back to studying Xingnese with occasional forays into what little history of Xerxes he could find, things settled into new, slightly awkward but workable course.

"It's working out, slowly," he told Pinako some time later, having been invited along with the boys to have a dinner at the automail shop – Pinako, it seemed, was under the impression that he could cook. She was partially right.

"I can see that," the old mechanic murmured, while watching through the window how Ed, Al and Winry argued about something in the yard – the argument involved lot of stick drawing and arm waving and then chasing around when someone no doubt called someone else _short_. "They're young. Give it time and they'll bounce right back," Pinako added. "Few years, and they'll forget Trisha more or less completely, unless constantly reminded."

"They will?" Nicolas asked with some disbelief.

"Well. Maybe not Ed and Al – they're too smart. Most children would though – memories tend to fade a bit as time goes by, and the younger you are, the more you forget as you grow," the mechanic explained, and glanced at him. "As cruel as it may seem, it's probably for the best. Those kids _are_ prodigies, and if they really set their minds to something, it'll be difficult to unset them. It's better to let Trisha fade into vague memory, than to have them mourn her for the rest of their lives."

"Hm," Nicolas answered, and then sat down to the kitchen table, taking off his glasses and eying them. He had gotten so used to them that he no longer paid much mind to them, except when they got dirty. It seemed like it had been ages ago, when he had made them.

People did get used to things. Their inclusion and exclusion.

"I've been trying to distract them with alchemy, but it turns out I'm not all that good as a teacher," he admitted then, starting to clean the lenses with the hem of his shirt. "I don't have any reference on how I should go about it, so I keep going to fast. I think… I think a proper teacher would do the boys some good."

"A tutor or an alchemy master?" Pinako asked, glancing at him.

"One or the other," the youth nodded, slipping the glasses back on.

"They will be entering school soon, though."

"True," the alchemist agreed. "But I doubt going to the local primary school will do much for the boys. They can already read, write and count – and all of it's self taught. They already know most of the periodic table by heart, by the year is through they'll know it all, maybe before. Primary school will offer them nothing new as far as alchemy goes. They'd need a proper teacher"

Pinako nodded thoughtfully, folding her arms with her pipe in one hand. "You will have tough time finding someone like that here. Hohenheim was something a village celebrity because he was the only alchemist around – like you are now. You'd have to go to look from outside Resembool," she said. "And with what's going in Ishval, every alchemist has probably been recruited to help the war effort, the same as all the doctors. Everyone who hasn't flat out refused them, anyway."

"Hm, there is that," Nicolas murmured. "I suppose I have figure out some other way then. Best to keep my eyes open, in case something turns up though…"

Pinako looked at him and then sat down across the table. "What about you? How are you doing?"

"Well enough," he answered. "I'm trying to improve my cooking, with less than stellar success," he admitted then.

"I can help you with that, though you would have to come around more often," the old woman laughed and then turned serious. "And alchemy? Have you found any clue as to why you're here?"

"Not in Hohenheim's books, no," he said. "I haven't read them all yet, though. Most of the Amestrian books, sure, but not the Xingnese ones. I haven't got a handle on the language yet," he sighed and frowned, rubbing the skin between his eyebrows. "I have a feeling that if there is an answer there, it will be in the books from Xing, though. Amestrian alchemy is… it follows the sort of courses that makes it ill equipped in tackling something like time travel, somehow."

Plus, he might find out more about Xerxes and Hohenheim's past in the Xingnese books – there had to be a reason why Hohenheim had them, after all.

"Xingnese, hm?" Pinako asked, and leaned back on her seat. "Seems bit of a long shot."

"It's all a long shot, I wouldn't need to do any of it if I would just _remember_," Nicolas muttered grimly and looked towards the window. Alphonse was scowling Edward, while Winry yelled at the both of them.

"And no luck on that score, I suppose?" the mechanic enquired.

"None. When Trisha got sick, I did get a feeling, but it was more of… it was kind of the sort of feeling you get after a nightmare, rather than a memory," the alchemist said. "Aside from that, it's been alchemical knowledge only."

Well, maybe not. He had gotten other nightmarish feelings. Like the odd, _red_ fear that had made him usher Ed and Al to accept Trisha's death as quick as possible. There was also something about Trisha's story about Xerxes and Van Hohenheim that made his blood run more than just a little bit cold – and which, in the end, made him discard the notion that she had been fooled and accept it as pure, simple truth.

The answer to all of it, most of it at least, would be in the Xingnese books. He was sure of that, somehow.

"Well, right now it seems like there is time," Pinako said after some silence. "For now let's concentrate onto what we can do. That said, you can help me cook dinner. Let's see what we can do about your lack of culinary talents, first, before you force the boys to starvation with your cooking."

"Alright," he agreed with a sigh, and stood up. He wobbled a bit, and grimaced. "When _will_ my automail be ready?" he asked, taking support from the table to keep himself from falling down. He still wasn't used to the spare leg Pinako had given him to wear while he waited for his own to be finished.

"It's taking me a bit longer than I assumed. Your automail are tuned differently than I'm used to, and I don't want to break anything," Pinako said. "Besides, I need to make some additional modifications. Couple more days should do it."

"Additional modifications?"

"Yes. I need to get rid of the maker's mark and the service log," Pinako said. "Not only all the dates from the future but they're logged by a person who is only five years of now, too. We can't have that, now can we? And of course, service log like that marks you as military man, and that's bad enough."

Nicolas blinked at that. Military man? Oh, yes, the silver watch, which now sat on Hohenheim's desk, unused and mostly forgotten because it didn't work and he couldn't have carried it around even if it had. "What do you mean, service log marks me a military man?"

"Only people in military have detailed service log written directly to their automail," Pinako answered. "It has to do with employment and such – when you might get send another end of the country, you can't always rely your own private mechanic to know what's wrong, it's more likely you get send to some other mechanic if something goes wrong with your automail."

"That makes sense I suppose," Nicolas murmured. "And I doubt people carry their medical histories with them when they go to war."

Pinako nodded. "Or if they do, they might get lost or something, so it's simply easier to have the service history logged into the automail directly. That way any mechanic new to your automail know at least when something was done and maybe even the bones of why, and can contact your real mechanic for more information."

Nicolas nodded. "So, you're getting rid of that?" he asked.

"Yeah. And coming up with alternate history – if anyone asks, you got your auto mail from Rush Valley, of someone asks really for more details, you might want to hesitatingly admit that you had little money, that it was a slightly shady deal, and you have no idea what the guy's name was," Pinako said and smiled. "That way, no one will go checking it out."

"Clever," the alchemist said, giving her an appreciative look. "You think of everything, don't you?"

"Hmph. When you get to my age, you know to think of the consequences of little things," she answered. "Now come on, we have work to do."

After the dinner, they walked back towards the three story house with red rooftop, stopping by the graveyard on the way as they did every time they came that way. While Ed and Al sat by the grave, putting wildflowers by the stone and telling their mother all the things they had learned and done and what they would do next, Nicolas walked about, giving them some privacy.

Taking care of the boys, teaching them alchemy and trying to look into their well being, all the while trying to learn Xingnese and read the books in Hohenheim's study, research Xerxes and its destruction, somehow figure out why he had travelled back in time…

He was starting to see why people did this parenting thing usually in pairs.

"Nick!" Ed called from Trisha's grave. "Come here, and watch!"

He dutifully went over, to see Alphonse sketching a free-form transmutation array to the ground near Trisha's grave, while Ed piled some white pebbles onto it. Crouching down, Nicolas quickly checked that the array was sound, before looking at the boys. He nodded at their expectant looks, smiling and then watching how they performed the transmutation in easy duet.

Duet? The blue light flickered as he looked from one boy to another, suddenly stricken by something he had never thought of before. Ed and Al performed a lot of alchemy in unison, with a single array, both using it the same time and usually to come up with same conclusion. Nicolas had never even considered it before but… that was pretty incredible, wasn't it?

The pebbles twisted and turned and then turned into stone blossoms under the will of the two boys, who concentrated hard until the very end before letting go of the array. They eyed their handiwork and then shared an exultant smile, before turning to him.

"Well done," he said, and meant every word of it as he reached for one of the stone flowers. They were maybe a bit childish in their design, but they were unmistakeably flower, and as he set it back down again, he suddenly felt intensely jealous of the two boys in front of him. They knew each other's minds and thought patterns so well that they could work together like this – when he didn't even know himself.

"Very well done," Nicolas said again and then watched how Ed and Al littered their mother's grave with the stone blossoms. He swallowed his feelings and the question of had he and _his_ Alphonse been like that too, and stood up. "Shall we go home then?" he asked and peered up to the sky. "It's getting late."

He wanted to start studying again. It would distract him a bit. Hopefully.

x

"Oh, give me a break already," Nicolas muttered, as he looked between his notes and one of the Xingnese books of Hohenheim's. He had decided to try a direct translation now that he understood bit about the groupings of the hanzi symbols, and had intended to go about just trying to match symbols to words – only to find out that apparently most of Hohenheim's books were written in some different version of hanzi, than the one his dictionary translated. Some ancient version or obscure dialect – or the words were simply all things that weren't in the dictionary.

Sighing heavily he snapped the book shut and took of his glasses so that he could rub at the bridge of his nose. Well, that was a bust, then, as well as several weeks of work down the drain. Of course, it made some sense. Hohenheim was hundreds of years old, and so were the books most likely – while the dictionary on other hand was recent enough to have been printed that very decade. The language of Xing had probably advanced and evolved in the time – if not that, then the penmanship, which tended to be handwritten and a bit mess on Hohenheim's books. Or brushmanship, as it was.

"Maybe I should be the one trying to go about finding a teacher for himself," he murmured, wondering how much it would cost him to try and find and hire a Xingnese to teach him the language – in its modern and old versions. Probably more than he could spare – and he didn't dare to spare much, even if Trisha had left him sizeable amount. That money was, after all, to be used mostly on Ed and Al. And to service his automail, when it was necessary – Pinako, for all her kindness, didn't work for free.

He sighed again, and put the book down, just as Ed and Al dashed into the living room, where he had retreated to study while the boys argued about transmutations in the study. "Nick, Nick, we found something interesting!" Ed said, holding out a book at him.

"We were looking into medical transmutation, just for fun – well I was, brother wasn't doing anything really," Al rushed to explain. "And we ran into this!"

Nicolas blinked and then looked down to the book they had deposited into his lap. "What's this then?" he asked, taking the book and looking more closely at the picture of a man on one of the pages – no, a _human_ rather, drawn in a circle without a gender or any distinguishing features, with arms and legs outstretched to touch the edges of the circle. He frowned, and glanced up at the title of the chapter they had open.

_Human transmutation_.

"I was wondering about illnesses like the one mom had, and how alchemy would go about healing them," Alphonse said excitedly. "There would have to be a way, transmuting the body so that the sickness is simply taken out, and then there was this –"

"I says there that human transmutation can theoretically resurrect even the dead," Ed said, pointing and a passage on the text which Nicolas followed somehow dully, his stomach churning. "That human body is same as any other matter alchemist work with, just animate, and if you get the right ingredients –"

He stopped as Nicolas stood up, the book falling from his inert fingers. Before the boys could say anything else, the alchemist had already ran out of the room and dashed to the bathroom, where he fell to his knees in front of the toilet, falling so hard that his automail knee probably cracked the tile below it. He only barely made it there in time.

When Ed and Al caught up with him, he had already heaved out everything he had eaten that day, his mind barely able to keep up with the knowledge uncoiling inside his head, even as his body attempted to reject it with all it got. "Nicolas!" the boys cried, but he could barely hear them, his body convulsing as another spasm ran through him, making him shake and shiver and dry heave.

How long it lasted, he didn't know. He couldn't even say which was worse – his body's reaction to the knowledge, or the knowledge itself. He could _see_ it, almost.

The transmutation array – several in fact, there were so many ways to make it, and he seemed to instinctively know all of them. Bismuth, mercury, white arsenic, magnesium, gold, lead, sal ammonic, copper platinum, _and after the perfect white follows grey and false citrine also.__ And after these shall appear the substance invariable, then you shall…_

The materials, oh, human body was so cheaply made. Twenty-five litres of water, twenty kilos of carbon, two litres of ammonia, one and half kilos of lime, eight hundred grams of phosphorus, two and half hundred grams of sodium chloride, hundred grams of sulphur, eighty grams of magnesium, one and half gram of iron, three grams of silicon…

And the price.

"Nick, Nick!" someone was yelling, as another spasm took him over. His left leg ached, his right arm was _throbbing_, and his stomach wanted to crawl out of him.

"Water," he rasped breathlessly, when heaving ended. "Get me some… water."

There was thunder of footsteps back and forth as one of them fetched a glass and filled it in the bathroom sink – he knew one of the boys stayed at his side, because someone was holding his hair even as he remained bowed over the toilet bowl, in case the convulsions came back.

"H-here," it was Al, holding the glass. Nicolas took it, but his hands shook so much that Al had to hold it for him when he took a sip, rinsed his mouth and spat it out before flushing the toilet tiredly. It seemed to be over now, though his head kept on pounding heavily and it felt like his limps, the missing ones, were made of stone. Or lava, perhaps.

"So," he said weakly, coughing and taking the glass to his own hand. It remained almost still this time, and he managed the next sip by himself. "Human transmutation, huh?"

As he turned to lean to the bathroom wall, to look at the two boys, he found them wide eyed, pale and borderline terrified. Then Ed blinked and looked at Nicolas. "Wait, that's why you threw up?" he asked, sounding confused.

"I thought you had gotten ill!" Alphonse said, his hands shaking a bit before he clasped the hem of his shirt and bowed his head. "L-like mom!"

"Yeah," Ed nodded and then frowned. "Talking about human transfiguration makes you throw up?"

Nicolas eyed the pair of them and then scoffed. "If you knew what it was about, you'd throw up too," he said and then narrowed his eyes at the way the boys relaxed and glanced at each other, apparently calming down from their fright now that they knew wasn't actually _ill_.

For some reason he didn't like that at all.

"What, exactly, do you think human transmutation is?" he asked slowly, looking from one boy to another.

"We don't need to talk about it, if it makes you ill," Al said quickly.

"No, let's talk now," Nicolas disagreed, feeling weak and old and way too young, but knowing that it was better to handle this now. His mind was full of terrible, horrible information and he wanted to sort it out now, rather than let it sit and _eat him alive_.

Ed and Al shared a look before Al kneeled on the bathroom tiles, Ed sitting down beside him with his ankles crossed. "It said in the text that there is a thing, called the Homunculus, which is artificially created human," Ed started.

"And that in theory it is possible to make a thing like that with alchemy, if you know the biology and the science and can put together the right array to transmute the raw materials into the correct form," Al continued.

"And that, theoretically, it's possible to use human transmutation to resurrect a person," Ed said nodding and folding his arms. "That's about it, though."

They fell silent at that, neither looking at him. Nicolas watched them for a while, waiting, before asking, "And you figured I would know more and give you the details?" he asked slowly.

"Well, that was before you threw up," Ed said.

Nicolas scoffed at him. "I do know. I didn't before but I remember the details now, thanks to you reminding me." The fact that he probably would've preferred not to remember was unsaid but probably heard nonetheless, judging by the way the boys winced.

Nicolas took a deep breath. What did he know? "It's true, that human body is made from fairly simple materials. You can buy them with pocket money or if you're not too picky you can probably find most of them in a junk yard," he said. "The array itself, well, it's complicated, but not impossible to put together."

Ed and Al glanced up, hesitatingly looking at him. "You know how it's done?" Ed asked, sounding just a little bit hopeful.

"Oh yes," Nicolas muttered, thinking, remembering, letting the knowledge uncoil and churn like the poisonous snake it was. Ouroboros, even. "It is an imperfect art. The Homunculus you read about is not a human being, but an imitation of one," he started. "Nothing the sort of human transmutation you're thinking about can produce can be called _human_. At best it will be a creature with some semblance to a human, in general shape and bone structure, maybe even the flesh will bear a semblance to human musculature and internal organs, but…"

He winced at the mental image in his head, of the backwards creature reaching out with a mangled limb and then breaking out in spouts of blood as its undeveloped skin cracked under the pressure of poorly formed musculature and organs. It hadn't been right – the knowledge of human anatomy had been there, in his head, on the circle, in the transmutation, it should've been perfect, but…

He took a deep breath, forcing echoes of guilt and revulsion and old horror down before he would begin dry heaving again.

"But if you _could_ perfect it…" Ed said slowly, his eyes wide with more than horror this time.

"Then what?" Nicolas asked, opening his eyes and looking the boy sternly. "Then you spent the next few years studying, practicing the theory, calculating the proper portions of human body and its materials, making the array. And then what? Try and resurrect Trisha?"

Edward scowled a bit at that, exchanging a look with unsure Alphonse who seemed to wilt a bit under Nicolas's glare.

"What would you pay for it, Ed?" the eldest of the three asked. "To have your mother back, what would you give?"

"… everything," Ed snapped while Al's hands curled into fists and he looked up seriously.

"Really?" Nicolas asked and then winced, as a shrill noise penetrated the bathroom door. The telephone was ringing. With a sigh, he pushed himself up to his feet, flesh and borrowed automail, before limping out of the bathroom, leaving the kids sitting on the tiles.

It was Pinako. "Your automail is finished," she announced as he answered the phone. "Swing by and I'll have you walking without waddling once more."

Nicolas frowned a bit at that, but at the sight of Ed and Al curiously coming out of the bathroom, he let the slur pass. "We'll be there shortly," he said, and hung the phone, turning to the boys. "Get dressed, we're going to see granny Pinako. Once there, I'll show you the sort of payments human transmutation demands."

If the boys had been alarmed by his bout of nausea, it paled to they reacted to the sight of him. Until that time, Nicolas had been making sure that Al and Ed saw as little of his skin as possible – he wasn't a pretty sight, with the automail ports and the extensive scarring – but this time he didn't let propriety or their peace of mind hinder him. Until that time, the boys had only known that he had automail, but they had probably not realised what it meant that he had it – that, in order to get it, he had had to have lost his original arm and leg.

They watched, wide eyed and shocked speechless, as Pinako detached the borrowed arm and leg, leaving Nicolas momentarily crippled. Then they winced and backed away, paling and then going grey, as Nicolas bit his teeth and forced back a cry, as Pinako reattached his own automail, connecting the nerves in that jarring agony that was like lightning bolt through his entire nervous system. First his arm, and then his leg which was even worse after the first shock had left him defenceless and after which Nicolas was panting through clenched teeth with the pain.

Pinako glanced at Ed and Al as she tightened the bolts, frowning a bit at their expressions, but said nothing about it – or about the fact that Nicolas had specifically demanded that they see.

"Would be easier on you if I had someone here to connect one while I connected the other – you wouldn't have to go though the reconnection of nerves twice," the engineer murmured. "Now, wiggle your fingers and toes."

Nicolas did, coming down from the spike of pain and then sitting obediently still while she went about reattaching the covering plates. He looked at Ed and Al, who were staring at him wordlessly. Once Pinako was done with the plates, Nicolas thanked her and then asked if he could have a moment with his brothers.

"What are you doing?" she asked quietly while screwing the final bolt in.

"Giving a very important lesson," he answered and waited until she left then he stood up, still only clad in his boxers, and held out his arms to show himself in his full scarred, crippled glory. "So. What would you pay?" he asked again. "How about an arm or a leg? Or maybe your memories? That would be a cheap price to pay, wouldn't it?" he asked, knowing he probably sounded cruel but also knowing that it would take pain to get through this.

"Did you…?" Alphonse started, glancing at Edward who was gritting his teeth and staring at the floor now. "Who did you…?" the younger of the two tried again.

"I'm not sure exactly," Nicolas answered, crouching down. "My own mother probably." It made sense – seeing that Ed was thinking of using human transmutation to resurrect Trisha, Nicolas probably had too. And he had done it. And he had _failed_.

Had Alphonse been there too? How much had he paid, less or more than he had? How much had he lost?

"So, how about it?" Nicolas asked. "You go through it, you pay the price – and there is a price, this isn't like your usual transmutation, you need a bit more than the materials. So, off with an arm or a leg, or maybe both – or all of them who knows. And then your mother is there – and sees you all chopped up. I bet that will make her happy. Or maybe she won't be, maybe the transmutation will produce the same mangled creature, the monster that I made –"

"Shut up!" Ed snapped suddenly, reaching forward and showing hard at Nicolas's chest, making him fall backwards more thanks to the surprise than the actual impact. The next thing Nicolas knew, Ed was gone, and he was sitting on the automail clinic's floor with surprised Alphonse standing in front of him.

Al swallowed, looking between the door Ed has ran through and then at Nicolas. "He…" the boy started. "He though you'd be happy," he offered in a small voice, tears glimmering in his eyes. "That you liked mom."

The elder male looked at him for a while, before straightening his lopsided glasses. "Trisha was a wonderful woman," he agreed, before reaching and pulling the boy to his arms. "But she died peacefully, didn't she? She died happy."

As Alphonse sniffled and started to sob, Nicolas winced and felt more than slightly guilty. He could've put that more gently – hell, any other way than the one he had gone about it would've probably been better – but he knew Edward, all too well even without his memories. The boy needed a gut wrenching horror to shock him out of a notion like that.

It was a pity he hadn't managed to do it, before Trisha had died. He thought he had, but…

Well, maybe now Edward didn't have to actually go through it, lose his limbs and maybe his life, and learn the hard way.

"Alright," he murmured and patted Al's back. "Let me pull some clothing on, and then we'll go find your brother."

"Alright," Alphonse nodded tearfully, and waited until Nicolas had clothed himself. He peeked in on Pinako to thank her and apologise for the ruckus and for leaving so soon, but he had brotherly matters to attend to. Thankfully, the mechanic seemed to understand as she only nodded and waved him off.

Ed was a bit harder to find when he didn't want to be found – he wasn't at the house or at the graveyard, and in the end it took two hours of searching to finally find the boy in the bank of the Resembool river, staring dully at the water.

"Its lunch time, you know," Nicolas said, as he and Al approached the sulking boy.

"I hate you," Ed said without looking. "Go away. You too, Al."

"I don't think so," Nicolas answered and before Ed could stand up and run away again he clasped the boy by the shoulder and sat beside him, keeping him seated. "Hate me all you want if that makes you happy, but I'm not going anywhere. Neither is Al, I think."

"Nope," the younger boy said, sitting at Edward's other side and looking at his brother worriedly. Ed wouldn't meet his eyes and instead lifted his knees up, hiding his face in them.

They were quiet for a while, Nicolas eying the line of Ed's back and taking in the just barely discernible shaking, before turning to look at the water. "I lost a lot, when I tried human transmutation. I don't remember why I did it, how long it took, just the science of it and the conclusion, the payment," he said quietly. "But I know I lost a lot. And I wasn't expecting it."

"I don't care," Ed muttered sullenly.

"Yes you do, you wouldn't be sulking if you didn't," the eldest of the three answered calmly and smiled sadly. "I don't want to hurt you Ed, or be intentionally mean. I just… don't want you to do the same mistakes I did. Not even for Trisha, as wonderful as she is, deserves that. Nor do I think she would want that."

Ed tensed a little at that under his hand, curling a little tighter in on himself. He was quiet for a moment before whispering, "You despise me for thinking it, don't you?" in small, shaky voice.

"Of course I don't," Nicolas said, and pulled the curled up ball that was his younger self into his lap. "You're my idiot pipsqueak of a brother and I love you," he said, wrapping his arms around the shaking form. "And I'm going to take care of you whether you like it or not, and save you even from yourself if it gets to that."

Al shifted a little closer to them and Nicolas unwound one arm to pull him closer too, even as Ed's small shaking exploded into shudders as silent sobs racked through the boy's form. Nicolas held the pair of them tightly to him, calling them idiots and fools and dumbasses and many other things, before telling them that it was alright, all of it, _alright_.

"No more talk about human transmutation," he said then, once Ed had calmed down a little. "Alright, shorty?"

The boy let out a choked little laugh. "You're the one to talk, Mr. waddling mother hen."

"Watch it, I can still decide to give you a pre-emptive trashing," Nicolas snapped at him, thumping him on the ear. While Ed made a wordless noise of outrage, Nicolas grinned and kissed the boy's forehead before standing up, swinging Ed onto his automail shoulder, and Al under his left arm. "Now let's go home."

"We can walk, you know!" Ed objected, trashing and nearly kicking him in the stomach.

"What is that? Sounds like _little_ fly buzzing at my ear, in a _tiny little_ voice, must be nothing to concern myself about," Nicolas answered cheerfully while Al just sighed and resigned to be hauled about.

Ed of course didn't. "Who are you calling a tiny little insignificant fly smaller than a speck of dust, you bastard? I'm going to kill you!"

Nick didn't answer, just smiled with satisfaction and relief, and then grunted as Ed kicked him almost squarely to his midriff. He retaliated by almost dropping the boy, only to haul him back up again after he had nearly landed head first to the ground. It was very interesting trip back home.

Later that day, Ed approached him while Nicolas transmuted all his clothing to fit him – they had gotten smaller in the weeks, but he had held out until after he got his automail. Now, with some relief, he quickly made sure that he could once more could wear his shirts without fearing that they'd split from the back. The fabric would be a bit thinner and would break more easily, but still…

He was just done with one of his favourite button up shirts, when the boy came behind him. "Yes?" he asked without looking at the boy, and instead held the shirt against his chest, stretching the sleeves along his arms to see if they were long enough.

"Does it ever work?" Ed asked quietly. "Human transmutation, does it ever work?"

At this the youth glanced at the serious boy before looking away. "Not the way you want it to. You can't resurrect the dead," he said simply. "I know the theory makes it seem possible, but it's not. You might, with extreme knowledge and talent and incredible precision, make a body, a homunculus, who would look like the dead person. But it wouldn't be. What makes human _human_ isn't the way they look, but what they have inside. And once soul leaves the body, once there is no longer will or spirit to link it to the body, there is no way to get it back."

"Absolutely no way?" Ed asked.

"Absolutely none," Nicolas answered and glanced at him again. It might not be actually true, there was the Philosopher's Stone to consider, and it's incredible power. If one sacrificed enough human lives there might be a way, but… no, he doubted it. It had less to do with the requirements, and more to do with what happened to person's soul after they died, he thought. He didn't know what it was, but he was pretty sure a dead soul was simply irretrievable and that was that.

Ed faced him silently and seriously for a moment before nodding. "Alright," he said, turning his eyes away and scowling. "Absolutely no way. Absolutely," he said the last more to himself than to Nicolas, who got the impression that the boy was forcing himself to believe it, internalise it – and in doing so, was also squashing the hope of resurrecting his mother for once and for all.

The youth smiled a little sadly at that, both relieved and guilty for having to be the one to destroy a child's dream. It didn't seem quite right – but then, it wasn't right for a five year old to dream of _resurrecting the dead_ either.

"Nick," Ed said after a moment. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright," the alchemist answered, turning back to his clothing and setting another article to the transmutation circle he had drawn for resizing them. "Curiosity is how alchemists learn, and only by asking the difficult questions we can learn the difficult lessons."

"Right," the boy said and then, after a pause. "What are you doing?"

"It's fairly basic transmutation, not all that different from what you did with the paper cranes. I'm just extending the overall shape to make the clothing simply bigger," Nicolas said. "Actually, it would be pretty handy thing for you to learn, considering you're a growing boy. Go get your brother, Ed, I'll teach this to you both at the same time."

x

Human transmutation wasn't mentioned again, though every day Nicolas found himself checking those books he knew contained information about it. They stayed on their shelves, untouched, while the boys ventures away from the Introduction to Alchemy to other basic books, and started expanding their knowledge, coming to him when ever they encountered a philosophy or a theory too complicated or poorly explained.

Nicolas returned to studying Xingnese with more vigour, intending to master at least the modern language to the point he could read that, if not the ancient version. It got a bit easier the more of the symbols he learned and started understanding the whole concept of using complicated symbols rather than strings of letters for words, and why this symbol said this and this other said that. It got him nowhere closer to understanding the Xingnese texts in Hohenheim study, but some time later it helped him in selecting another dictionary from a list of available books the local bookshop could order for him.

Like so time went by. Ed and Al kept on sleeping with him in the study, though he could see that they were no longer having as much trouble going to sleep as they had before – they probably thought that their sleeping troubles would return if they did, though, so he said nothing.

He had his own troubles too, so he could understand – his dreams had became unnerving, spotted with red and mangled bodies and human transmutation circles, sometimes even the circles for creation of a Philosopher's Stone. He wasn't entirely sure how well he kept those from the boys, but he tried – and he usually managed to stop himself from crying out when he woke up, so that was good.

He desperately wanted to know _why_ and _how_ he knew the things he did, though. The human transmutation he could understand – it had been Trisha, after all – but the Philosopher's Stone? Since regaining that knowledge, he had tried to think of it as little as possible, it was just too gruesome, but there was a link between one and the other, and now he couldn't help but wonder. Philosopher's Stone was a myth. Why did he know so much about it?

What kind of life had he led, that had led him to that sort of knowledge?

As the three of them studied, the boys growing in their alchemical understanding and Nicolas varying between Xingnese and what little he could study of history of Xerxes, the summer slowly turned to autumn. Around that time, they got a letter from the local school, asking Edward and Alphonse's admittance to be confirmed and that, if it was all possible, could Nicolas and the boys swing by the school for some introductions?

"Do we have to?" Edward asked plaintively, after Nicolas had shown the letter to them. "We already know how to read and write and everything."

"True, very true," Nicolas answered. He had thought of that before – that a normal school would just be a hindrance to the boys – but… they were getting a bit cooped up at the house, all three of them. Nicolas had his visits to the Rockbell Automail, and it's gym of course, and the boys did run about with Winry every now and then, but they could use some more interaction with kids of their age. Like them, Winry was a bit of a prodigy after all, and if this went on the boys would start thinking that every child of their age was a genius.

"There are other things you can learn at schools, though," he said and looked from one boy to another. "We could give it a look if nothing else. Winry is going too, isn't she?"

"So?" Edward asked and with a grin Nicolas reached to ruffle the boy's short hair.

"Be nice," he said and stood up. "I'll give the school a call and we take a look the next convenient time."

"I bet it will be tiresome," Alphonse sighed, pouting.

"You won't know it until you try it," the eldest of the three said cheerfully and went to make the call. The meeting was arranged for the very next day, and though the boys weren't happy about it, Nicolas gave them no chance to object too much.

The school was a fairly simple place, just few buildings with small classrooms, and one outdoor one for fair weather days, or so Nicolas assumed. Resembool wasn't that big of a place, so neither was school, and all in all there weren't that many students – and the year levels were mixed up, which was Ed and Al, despite the year between them, would be starting at same time, and would go into same classes.

The school was now run by Mr Dyne's daughter, Isabelle Dyne, who was just a little older than Nicolas was, and who blushed ferociously at the first sight of him, much to his confusion. He ignored it for the most part through their short tour in the school buildings, while Ed and Al followed, grumbling to themselves.

"Do we have to?" they asked, when Miss Dyne showed them the room where their classes would be for the most part.

"They can teach stuff here I can't," Nicolas answered thoughtfully. Maths, Amestrian, biology, physical education and the like. Alchemy he could do, but other things… and of course, he couldn't even teach alchemy properly. "I think we should give it a try."

"G-give it a try?" the young teacher asked with some disbelief. "You think of proper education as something to _try_?"

"Schoolwork has little to do with proper education," Nicolas shrugged. "But in lack of better options, it will do, I think." He turned to look at the boys. "Now, let's hear your objections."

"It's a waste of time," Ed said immediately.

"There's nothing that they can teach us that we can't learn quicker by ourselves," Al added.

"It'll be boring."

"And it will get away of our research."

Nicolas smiled, while beside him Miss Dyne nearly had a fit of outrage. "Maybe. But I think you'll be doing it regardless," he said, crouching down in front of the kids and grinning. "It'll be a lesson in reality – not everything goes the way you want to and sometimes you have to yield to do annoying things you don't want to do," he said, reaching to ruffle their hair. "Besides, you need to get out more."

"I hate you," Ed grumbled, batting his hand away, while Alphonse made a face

"Sure you do," Nicolas said, and stood up. "We'll give it month or two, see how things go. If it's no use, we'll keep on doing what we've been doing so far." He looked at the woman who was now pale with outrage. "I'm sure that can be arranged, right?"

"Listen here, Mr. Flamel, education isn't something you can just dismiss like that," she started. "Without proper schooling, how do you expect your brothers to manage life later on?"

"Pretty well," Nicolas answered, shrugging his shoulders and not really getting what got her so worked up. "Speaking of proper schooling, however, I would like to take a look at your lesson plans, see what we can cross out first hand."

"Excuse me?"

"I doubt you want to waste your time anymore than the boys to, so it's logical to make sure you don't bother trying to teach them something they already know," Nicolas said. "It ought to prevent some annoyance."

"Oh really. What do they know then?" Miss Dyne asked, folding her arms and looking irritated.

"Reading, writing, mathematics up to multiplication, fractions and calculating percentages, basics of biology, chemistry, physics…" Nicolas ticked of the points with his fingers and glanced at the boys. "Anything else?"

Ed and Al shared a look. "That's about it," Ed admitted then. "We can learn more than that here?"

"Hopefully," Nicolas said, turning to the now slightly pale woman. "Can they?"

"Ah. Well," she floundered a bit and swallowed as she looked at the two boys before her. "I think we should be able to work something out."

"Good," Nicolas nodded.

It took some time longer to arrange the lesson plan in a way that wouldn't put the boys through things they already knew, and the poor teacher nearly had an apoplexy when Nicolas crossed over some good half of the lessons as utterly useless, and then made a string of footnotes to those he did accept. Ed and Al hovered behind him, watching him as he wrote and starting to look a little less like he was sending them to a prison or something.

"Do we have to learn music?" Al asked, when Nicolas did nothing to that lesson.

"I don't see why not. It's something neither I nor your father's study can teach you," Nicolas answered calmly. "You might even like it."

"I doubt it," Ed muttered.

By the time they left the school, Nicolas got the impression that the teacher had been horribly disappointed by him, though he wasn't entirely sure why or how. It didn't matter too much, and so as long as she would stick to the modified plans, he would be satisfied.

"Now," he said, taking out his wallet and taking a look at the cash he had available. "Let's go shopping. Some note books and pens and the like are in order, I think."

While the boys selected themselves some writing utensils and such, Nicolas picked a leather bound journal for himself, figuring that it was high time he started making proper notes about his own alchemical knowledge and studies. Ed and Al got a bit overboard, selecting several rolls of the large sheets of paper they used for their alchemical practices, but Nicolas didn't bother to try and moderate them since most of what they wanted was sensible enough. He even picked some for himself, as well as couple of boxes of charcoal and chalk. In the end they left behind a very happy shop keeper, being the man's best customers in the town no doubt.

"When will the school start, Nick?" Alphonse asked, after they had stopped by a grocery store and then headed home.

"Couple of weeks from now," he answered. "It won't be that bad, it's just few hours a day, six or eight at most, and the rest of the time you can do whatever you like."

"Still, seems like waste of time to me," Edward muttered, crossing his hands behind his neck and scowling up at the sky. "Did you go to school Nick?"

"I might've. I don't remember," the alchemist answered, examining the notebook he had bought. He probably ought to develop a code for whatever notes he would make. Some of the things he wanted to write weren't the sort of things he wanted Ed and Al to read. Or anyone else, for that matter. But what to use as a code…?

"How is it that you remember some things and not others?" Edward asked, giving him a frown.

"I suppose it has to do with the nature of the amnesia. I remember _knowledge_, but not personal memories," Nicolas answered with a shrug. He had gotten pretty much used to it, though he couldn't tell where, exactly, did the knowledge of human transmutation fall. He remembered the result, after all, in vivid imaginary rather than as facts, and that bordered on the line of personal memories.

"Alchemy probably can't fix that, huh?" Alphonse said thoughtfully.

"Probably not. But I'm doing pretty well as things are, am I?" Nicolas asked, and pushed the empty journal into the bags he was carrying. "And I can still make new memories, so that's good. I can replace the ones I've lost eventually."

Ed gave him an odd sort of look. "Wouldn't it be weird if you couldn't make memories?" he asked with some morbid fascination. "We'd always have to be introducing ourselves to you and reminding you of things, and it would be like living with a really, really old man."

"That would be tough," Alphonse agreed with wide eyes. "And you wouldn't be able to explain alchemy to us either, probably, or you'd be always explaining the same things!"

"Well, that wouldn't change at all then, would it?" Ed asked thoughtfully.

Nicolas let out a laugh, and slapped the boy lightly to the back of the head. "Brats," he said. "Nice to know that you appreciate me."

"We do," Al said with wide, innocent eyes.

"We totally do," Ed agreed with an equally innocent look.

"Who'd teach us alchemy if you weren't here?"

"And who'd cook and clean and stuff at our house? That work's _tiresome_."

The alchemist snorted. "The moment I get the chance, I'll throw you at some other poor alchemist and take a hike," he said. "Then someone else can enjoy you smartasses' delightful comments."

x

"You still haven't figured it out yet, have you?" Pinako asked, while Nicolas sat on the floor of the automail clinic's gym, oiling a stiff gear on his automail hand. It had jammed while he had been lifting weights, and he had nearly dropped the barbell – something wasn't entirely safe, even if there had only been about twenty kilos on it.

And of course Pinako had only snorted at him when he had asked her to fix it, deeming it his own fault since he hadn't been performing his maintenance properly.

"Figured out what?" the alchemist asked, flexing his hand and then poking the elongated tip of the oil bottle underneath the plate at the base of his thumb, until it reached the right gear.

"Why you're here."

Nicolas paused at that, glancing at her over the rim of his glasses before looking down. No, he still had no definite idea. His research still had given him no clues about time travel or if it was even possible – according to everything he knew, it _wasn't_. The science of it just didn't exist, there was no base for it, and even if it there would've been… where did one get the energy for something like that? How much energy did it take, to go against the proper flow of time? It was nothing any normal alchemist could do.

But then… there was that _other thing_.

"I think there's a reason as to why I want to learn Xingnese and understand their alchemy," he said finally. "I think there's a reason I remember some things and not others." Alchemy, Philosopher's Stone, human transmutation… "And I think it all is linked to Hohenheim, in some way," he added, thinking about the things Trisha had told him.

Pinako gave him a sharp look. "So, you know about that?"

"Trisha told me. You do too?" he asked, looking at her while putting the oil bottle down and standing up.

"Probably not all of it. Hohenheim never really explained it – but I've known him a long time," Pinako said, taking out her pipe. "Long, long while – and all that time, he's looked like man at his forties. I bet he still looks exactly like that – and he probably will, long past they cover me in dirt."

Nicolas said nothing at that, just flexed his hand again before reaching for the barbell. His grip held this time and as he pulled it up to a curl, he considered her words.

"I think there is still time," he said after few lifts. "There is a reason, I can… well, it feels like there is. I don't know what it is yet, hell, maybe I never will. But I know it's there," he trailed away and then shook his head, doing another curl. "But I don't feel hurried. Not like I did with Ed and Al and the aftermath of Trisha's death."

"What do you mean?" Pinako asked sharply, looking up from preparing the pipe and at him.

He hesitated and then lowered the barbell, crouching down and laying it on the floor. "I know the science of human transmutation," he admitted. "I know the requirements, the materials, the measurements – several sorts of transmutation arrays. And," he added, patting his right. "I also know the price. I don't know why or how or when, but I can guess. Ed did take his mother's death hard. Al did too."

The old woman stared at him for a moment with open mouth. "Then, that thing about having them here when I reconnected your automail…"

"I wanted them to know it's nothing you can take lightly. Hell, it's nothing you can even consider," Nicolas murmured, eying his automail. He sighed and shook his head. "That's not the point though. When I saw the signs that Ed and Al might be desperate enough, I knew I needed to react quickly, I could feel it. With the other stuff, I know I need to _do_ something, but I'm not…. I'm not in hurry."

"So…" Pinako muttered. "Whatever it is, there is still time?"

"Well, I am over ten years older than Ed," Nicolas snorted, glancing at her. "Whatever sent me here, it won't happen for another ten years. We got that, at least."

"That's true, I suppose," the woman said, lighting her pipe with a match and taking an inhale. "If there is that much time, though, why did you come this far back at all? Why not closer to the actual thing, whatever it was?"

"I don't know. To give me time to prepare? Maybe I or whoever it was that arranged it knew I'd lose my memories, and they knew I'd need the time to re-orient myself," Nicolas said. "Or maybe I'm this far back just so that I could stop Ed and Al from doing the same mistakes I did. Or… or maybe it was just an accident."

"Or maybe something was supposed to happen just week after you came back, but you forgot everything about it and now that event's gone down and you've failed," Pinako pointed out.

"Nice, thanks," the alchemist answered dryly. "That makes me ever so much more confident about this."

The old woman smiled and shook her head. "Well, there's little we can do about it right now, is there? When you still don't remember."

"There is something," Nicolas disagreed and at her look he shrugged. "I can take care of Ed and Al, and make sure they stay away from certain things. I can research the things I know I don't know, I can look into Hohenheim's past and the other things connected – I can learn Xingnese and figure out their alchemy. I can still prepare."

"Except you don't know _what_ you're preparing for," she pointed out.

"I'd still rather be prepared. Better that, than to be caught completely unawares," he answered and stretched. "Something that requires you to send an alchemist, a State Alchemist at that, ten years back in time. It got to be something big. So, I'll prepare for something big. Hell, maybe I ought to prepare for the end of the world."

The automail mechanic snorted. "I think that would be a bit overdone."

"Would it?" Nicolas asked, and then shrugged and took the barbell again. "If it is, then I will be pleasantly surprised before the end, won't I?"

xx

AN; I had oddly fun time making Nicolas into a bad teacher. Also it was fun researching/making up alchemy stuff. The human transmutation circle Ed and Al used? A_wesome._

Also, I've decided on the slash issue. Nicolas will have a slash pairing, however the romance will be mostly off screen, and the relationship on screen will be mostly platonic, and it will never take exactly main role. The plot will remain the timetravel-alchemy-family centric until the end. And for those who will ask "in that case, does it have to be slash? Can't you just make it gen?" Yes, it has to be slash, because I like it that way, and it fits the plot I'm planning. But it will gen if you squint. You can almost pretend it's bromance.

My apologies for possible grammar errors. If this has words randomly glued together, its ffnets fault, it does it own editing.


	5. Time and time again

Warnings; Spoilers, time travel, amnesia, death of character, etc. FMA manga and Brotherhood based, has nothing what so ever to do with 2003 anime. ******Will be slash.**

**Disorient  
Chapter 5  
Time and time again **

"So, it's alkahestry, not alchemy," Nicolas murmured, looking between his numerous notes, and the first Xingnese text he had started to, very tentatively, translate. Even with all the dictionaries – and one of them was even about the traditional form of Xingnese Hanzi – he still only had vague understanding over the language and could only pick few symbols out of dozens, but even those few were enough to give him some idea. Especially since so far he had studied the more difficult Hanzi, like ones to do with sciences, chemistry, philosophy, physics and, of course, alchemy.

Except what the Xingnese practiced wasn't alchemy at all, not according to every method of translating he had used – there _was_ a Xingnese word for Alchemy, but it was never used. Instead the symbol in the cover, in the chapter titles, in the text, was always _alkahestry_ which was in the dictionaries called the _Purification arts_. Nicolas got the strong impression that whoever had made the dictionaries had no idea what the Xingnese alkahestry was – or what the _word_ alkahestry even meant – but still, it wasn't alchemy.

Alkahest. In Amestris it was about as mythical as the concept of Philosopher's Stone. It was the universal solvent – with the power to decompose anything, to dissolve solid matter. It was also like the Philosopher's Stone in the way that it was said to be able to cure any ail, repair any wound.

That alone was interesting – especially since all Nicolas' dictionaries had been written by different people and yet all of them had came to the conclusion that the symbol the Xingnese texts used was indeed alkahestry. But entire study, so similar in its structure to alchemy, named after the universal solvent? Or… based on the idea of universal solvent?

"I really need to master this damned language," he muttered to himself. Knowing the name alone got him beyond curious and it _killed_ him to be unable to learn more. There was so much more to learn! Like why were all the alkahestry transmutation circles drawn in _pairs_? And how could they even _work_? Most of them used only a single regular complex polygon in a circle, almost never deviating from that even in transmutations which he could figure from the pictures connected were rather complicated. It was like all of it was freeform transmutation!

Taking off his glasses and rubbing at the skin between his eyes, he looked down at the notes for a while longer before slumping back in his chair. He needed a faster method of learning Xingnese. It would've been so much easier if he could've just found a native speaker, a teacher to point him to the right direction. He was making progress, of course, but it was unbearably slow.

"If this was an alchemical circle written in Xerxesian, how would I go about it?" he wondered, putting the glasses back on. Probably by fraction by fraction, breaking the circle apart and going about translating the individual bits before comparing everything and see if they matched.

Though of course, ancient Xerxesian only had thirty two letters in it, and all the words formed from them – it wasn't like Xingnese with it's some tens of thousands of symbols, all of them with different and usually unique meaning. And Xerxesian to Amestrian dictionaries tended to be conveniently alphabetical.

With a sigh, he looked away from the papers and out of the window. It was windy and miserable again, he noted absently, and wondered if it would snow soon. Did it snow in Resembool? They were fairly far south as far as Amestris went, not quite south enough for it to be hot all the time, but still south.

Then he noticed the clock – it was almost noon, and the boys would be released from school in couple of hours. Despite the fact that the school had been on for couple of months now, with Ed and Al begrudgingly admitting that yes, they learned a few new things there despite all the odds, he still hadn't gotten used to it. The house was so quiet in the mornings, and he kept expecting the boys to barge in on him at odd hours, to display this or that alchemical thing they wanted to try.

He still felt like he ought to be walking the boys to the school and then picking them up after it, like he had done the first week.

Shaking his head Nicolas turned away, giving his studies another look before standing up. Maybe a bit of a break would help him clear his thoughts, and possibly give him an idea about how to go about the translation. He could do it now, but it was such a slow process, going through four different dictionaries for satisfying translation for one symbol that he didn't yet understand.

"Maybe I need a file card system for this," he muttered, leaving his unfinished translation to the study desk and walking out of the study. For a moment he entertained the notion of making cards for all the symbols, and then browsing through the cards for a translation but… making the cards would take even longer than leafing through the books did.

One thing was sure, though. He was burning his way through entirely too much paper. What he needed right now was a blackboard. While he went downstairs to fix himself a cup of tea, he wondered if he could get materials for that in Resembool.

After his tea, he decided that he might as well go and take a look – he was getting nowhere the way he was.

As he ventured out into the windy afternoon, he looked around himself with oddly nostalgic feel. He had been living in Resembool for months now, and the place had become his home in more than convenience. He had learn to know the road between the house and the village, the houses here and there, the quickest route to the Rockbell Automail, everything. The on coming winter was giving the place a whole new look – the trees had been stripped bare by the winds and the grass had turned first yellow, then orange and now it was mostly brown – and the crops had long since been harvested, leaving the fields empty and bare.

It wasn't a bad sort of place, Resembool. The people had gotten used to him too, and no one gave him any sideways glances or muttered about Hohenheim behind his back – instead he was simply Nicolas or Mr Flamel, the guardian of the Elric boys, and not a bad one at that. Plus, he was Resembool's resident alchemist and despite everything the villagers took some pride in that. Pride and advantage, calling upon him when ever they needed a quick fix to a terrible situation. Like a collapsed shed or a broken support beam on a roof.

He probably ought to have started asking for a payment for his services, though that was probably too late now. But then again, if he would've then people probably would've started muttering about the whole _alchemy is for people_ stuff.

But he didn't really mind.

Smiling to himself, he looked ahead and to the village. Very few were out, which was understandable enough, considering the wind. He was more than happy to get out of it himself, making his way to the grocery store and asking whether they might have any dark matte paint – he could transmute everything himself from whatever spare wood they had around the house, but paint was a bit trickier.

"I think we should have something," the store owner said. "Give me a moment and I'll have a look."

Nicolas nodded and took a look at the store while waiting, buying some rock candy for Edward and Alphonse to be given later – if they had done well in school and not gotten into any fights. He was just considering whether or not to buy more paper now or later when they were closer to running out, when the store clerk returned with a small paint bucket.

"Something like this?" the woman asked, and after checking the bucket's label, Nicolas nodded.

"Seems about right," he said, putting the candy and the packet of paper to the counter, much to the store owners knowing amusement.

"How are the boys doing?" she asked, while ringing up his purchases.

"Well enough, I suppose. They get bored with school on occasion, but they're still going, so that's good," Nicolas said, taking out his wallet and counting out the bills and coins. "Any news in the village I might've not heard about yet?"

"Nothing to mention, really," she said, taking out a bag and putting his purchases into it. "There are few wounded soldiers here, though, arrived just this morning – two of them seem to be here for automail operation."

"Again, huh?" Nicolas answered. Soldiers had been coming from Ishval for a while now, to be equipped with automail by Pinako – it seemed that the automail engineers of south were getting over taxed by the surplus of customers, even Rush Valley tended to have it's mechanics booked for months and months. Pinako loved it, of course, more revenue for her, but it was making the resident of Resembool a bit weary.

"I suppose we will be seeing more and more of them as time gores by," the woman sighed while handing his purchases to him. "How long do you suppose the war there will last?"

"Probably a while longer," he answered with a shake of his head, and took the bag. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. Come again at any time."

After the store, he visited the café to get a cup of something to warm him after the cold wind. There he was encountered by a pair of women whom he knew through a somewhat awkward common interest – their children, his brothers, and parental meetings at the local primary school.

"Hey, Nicolas. Come on, join us," Mrs. Hudson called, motioning at the free seat at their table. "We were just talking about alchemists, maybe you can help us with something."

"Sure, just let me get something to drink first," he sighed, not really wanting to but unwilling to be impolite. He was something like the _baby_ of the parental meetings, much to his annoyance, and most of them were spent on doting on him and how dutiful he was, looking after his brothers. It had been flattering the first time, and had very quickly gotten extremely irritating.

After getting a cup and a pastry, he sat down at their table, setting his purchases down to the floor beside him. "So, what were you talking about?" he asked, taking a sip and then rubbing at his right shoulder. The cold made his automail ports ache

"It's about State Alchemists," the other woman, Mrs. Erickson, said. "We know there are some of them down in Ishval, but we haven't heard anything from them. We were just wondering if you might know why not – I mean, with alchemy, it's bound to be showy enough to make some news, right?"

"That's probably why you haven't heard of it," Nicolas answered, reaching for the newspaper sitting on the table. "The moment they sent the Alchemists out, the war will turn into a bloodbath. The Ishvalans won't have any chance after that."

"Oh," the woman murmured, blinking. "Really?" she then asked a little dubiously. "When ever you perform alchemy, it doesn't seem that dangerous."

"That's because you've never seen me perform any combat alchemy," he answered calmly, opening the paper. Unsurprisingly, the front page was taken over by news from south, and from the civil war. "When an alchemist fights, the entire terrain is his weapon. And combat alchemists don't use drawn circles like me – they will have rings and gauntlets and gloves, sometimes tattoos on their hands, which will let them transmute instantly. So, it's fast paced, extremely destructive, and it usually destroys the entire neighbourhood or more."

The women blinked at him, looking a little wide eyed. He glanced up and smiled slightly. "That's why the military rarely uses alchemist in full on combat, I think. The results tend to be messy," he said and turned back to the paper, a little satisfied to have put that shocked look on their faces.

"Can you do combat alchemy?" Mrs. Hudson asked slowly.

"I haven't any reason to, at the moment," Nicolas answered and then gave it a further thought. He didn't, not right now, but the time might come when he _did_ – he did have a fighter's body. It was actually a bit strange, now that he thought about it – he had _automail_, after all, perfect canvas some battle alchemical sigils, and yet there wasn't a single circle drawn on the metal. Nor had he had any gauntlets, gloves or anything when he had appeared.

Had he been an alchemist who fought with his body alone? It seemed a little unlikely, considering how many different ways he knew to turn any material at hand into spears and swords and the like. He even had a transmutation circle that would turn one of the plates of his automail hand into a blade extending past his knuckles.

Maybe he had used gloves and they had been ripped. His clothing had been in a sorry state when he had appeared. He probably should look into making new ones, he realised. One never knew when one would need them.

It was something to look into.

"So, how are your daughters doing?" he asked then, pushing the thought aside for now.

"Ah, you know. Anele brought back another picture she drew at class – she's becoming quite an artist," Mrs. Erickson said, and they were off. Chattering about their daughters while Nicolas ignored them for the most part, reading the paper instead and giving only the imitation of interest at right point.

He eventually made his escape on the grounds of school going out and intention to see if he could pick up Ed and Al and then walk home together. While walking towards the school, he considered the matter of the gloves, or maybe gauntlets? Gloves would be easier to carry around, all he needed to do was shove them into his pocket and that was that, no one would know he had a loaded weapon with him.

But what sort of transmutations to add? The spear on, probably, he knew that so well that he probably knew how to fight with one too. Maybe the automail blade one too, though Pinako would have a fit. What else?

"What are _you_ doing here?" a irritated voice asked when he finally reached the school grounds. It was Ed, who by the looks of it was nursing the signs of recent fight – one of which was a bruise on his cheek. Al seemed to have gone through some rough times too, and was uselessly trying to smooth out the dirt and wrinkles off his shirt.

"Well now, what was it this time?" Nicolas asked, one hand at his hip as he stared down at the pair. "Let me guess, the boys were being slow and irritating again and you couldn't help but mention it to them, repeatedly, in loud, ungracious tones?"

"No," Ed said sullenly, looking away and folding his arms. "Though they _were_."

"What was it then? Alphonse?" Nicolas asked, turning to the other boy who usually was more truthful and easier to get an answer out of, than Edward was.

"They said some mean things," Alphonse admitted, carefully avoiding his eyes. "About us and alchemy and… and you."

"Ah. And you defended my honour, is it?" Nicolas asked and sighed as the boys just kept on looking away from him. Maybe it had been a mistake to demand more advanced lessons for Ed and Al – they had most of their classes with the upper year students who weren't happy to have a pair of little kids amongst them. It probably didn't help that Ed and Al were both already a bit beyond those lessons in their own personal studies.

"Ah well," he said. "It's just bruises and stuff, I hope?" he asked, just to be sure. "You can both walk, there is no stinging pain anywhere, nothing? Do I need to take either of you to the clinic and get your bones reset?"

"No, although…" Alphonse started, trailing away and looking at Ed, who flushed bright red.

"Edward?" Nicolas asked expectantly and after a moment of cringing embarrassment, the boy looked up and pulled his upper lip up – to show a notable gap in his teeth, where a tooth was missing.

Nicolas stared at him for a moment and then chuckled, making Edward flush even more. "It's not funny!" the boy said, stomping his foot. "I don't even know when it came loose! I tried to find it afterwards, but –"

Nicolas looked away, covering his mouth and suppressing the urge to laugh even louder. "Why'd you want to find a loose tooth?" he asked.

"Well… it's my tooth!" Edward complained and gingerly poked a finger to the hole in his teeth. "They can't put it back if I can't find it."

The alchemist let out a snort at that, and had to close his eyes and mentally recite chemicals for a moment to keep himself from bursting with laughter. Then, after few deep breaths while Edward fumed silently and Alphonse looked worriedly between the pair of them, he tried to explain. "Edward, all your teeth are going to come off," he started.

"What?" the boy asked, looking utterly horrified at the thought.

"Yep. You too, Alphonse," Nicolas added, taking maybe little too much pleasure from their stricken, mortified expression. He grinned and crouched down in front of them. "Have neither of you heard of baby teeth?" he asked, smothering another snort rather badly.

"What? Well, yes, but I thought it was something babies had," Ed said slowly.

"No, it's something you have," Nicolas said, taking the boy's chin and pulling his lip back to see the gap. It didn't seem to be bleeding. "The teeth you have now are all baby teeth. They will fall off, one by one, and new teeth will grow in their place. Those will be your permanent teeth."

"Oh," Al answered and thought about it while Ed made faces at Nicolas. "Yeah, that makes sense, I was wondering why so many students in the school had some of their teeth knocked out. Doesn't seem like something they'd condone there."

Nicolas snorted again, ruffling first Ed's and then Al's hair and standing up. "You two are hilarious, you really are," he said. "Come on, let's go home and see what we can do about those heroic battle scars of yours."

"Stop making fun of me!" Ed snapped.

"But you make it so easy, pipsqueak."

"Why you-!"

Thankfully, both Ed's ire and his ego was easily soothed by the rock candy – though judging by the expression he had when he accepted his bag of the candy, he was probably not entirely sure whether he wanted to be eating hard candy, with his teeth being so loose. When he finally did, it was with a sort of care that made Nicolas turn away once more in attempt of hiding his amusement.

"We probably ought to talk a bit about the fighting, though," he said after regaining his composure as they approached their home. "Did you start it?"

Ed and Al exchanged a look and then scowled in unison. "They were provoking us," Alphonse explained.

"But you started it, right?" Nicolas asked. "And let me guess, if the teacher had seen, you would've been the one to get the blame too?"

"Probably. We usually are," Edward grumbled.

"Right," Nicolas nodded. "And you don't think they do that on purpose? They make you throw the first punch and when the teacher comes around they can point their fingers at you, and you never can deny it because both of you are lousy liars."

"Are not," Al objected.

"Are too," the alchemist answered and gave him and Ed a long look. "So, anyway. How about the next time you try and not be the one to throw the first punch. See if they start it instead. If they don't they're cowards. If they do, you can point fingers at them."

The boys shared a look. "And we're supposed to do what, lay down and take it?" Ed asked suspicious.

"Oh hell no. You should _never_ lay down and take it. No, you kick and hit back for all you're worth. They're all older and bigger than you, and if they start it, they deserve it," Nicolas said with a snort. "Just don't be the one to throw the first punch."

"Oh," Ed muttered, while Al gave Nicolas a dubious look.

"You know what, Nick?" the younger boy asked. "I'm not sure if you're supposed to say that. The teacher is always telling us how disappointed our parents – or how disappointed _you_ would be – if we got into fights and that we never should do it. You're not supposed to _encourage_ us."

"I'm not? Oh well, blame it on the upbringing I don't remember," Nicolas shrugged. "I suppose there is some merit in being a pacifist, but it tends to get you bullied. Nah, fighting is what you need to do. You only get one chance at life, and you should never waste it being shoved around by others."

"Okay. But what if we _can't_?" Ed asked with a scowl. "Like you said, they are older and bigger."

"Go for the crotch," Nicolas advised. "If you can manage a kick there, I promise you they will go down whimpering."

"I think we would get into trouble for that," Al said worriedly.

"You are such a bad role model," Ed agreed, looking almost impressed.

Nicolas shrugged and glanced at the boys. "Would be worth it, though, wouldn't it?" he asked, and then grinned. "Also biting is good if you can't do anything else, it tends to leave a long lasting impact. Just," he added firmly. "Never be the one to start it. That's what gets you in more trouble, than fighting back does. Got it?"

Ed and Al shared a look and then nodded. "Got it."

x

How successful the boys were at school and with their classmates, Nicolas wasn't entirely sure, but they eventually stopped coming back with bruises and adorned instead smug, satisfied smiles, so he figured they did well enough. While they worked on that, he worked on the Alkahestry, making his blackboard and then killing dozens and dozens of chalks on it, in the quest of perfect understanding over Xingnese and translation of the Alkahestry texts.

And when ever that got irksome, he stopped and worked on his gloves instead, trying to balance several different circles and symbols into a amalgamation of possible battle transmutations he would like. The spear one went to the right palm while the automail-blade went to the left one, which left him the knuckles, the fingers and the backs of his hand to work with. But in the end there were so many different things he wanted – one never knew when a earthen wall was necessary, or a spike, or a pedestal to lift one up, or maybe a metal cage to hold something in or out – so the rest took a bit more work.

Like so, with Al and Ed at school and working on alchemy while at home, and with Nicolas growing slowly more proficient at Xingnese, time went by. The winter came, windy and cool but snowless, which seemed to be the normal mode of winter in Resembool area – except that one winter twenty years ago the old timers still recalled every now and them, when it snowed almost one entire foot over night.

Ed and Al begun figuring out more and more of shape transmutations though combining elements was still a bit too advanced for them. They made wooden and stone toys that ended up littering the backyard and they turned pail of water into a ice statue of rather obscure sort of art before moving on to more complicated stuff. In one memorable event that forced Nicolas to come to the school in middle of the day, the failed to transform some clay in Arts and Crafts and ended up showering the classroom in the result. Twenty or so clay-sodden students and a teacher with a ruined jacket were not impressed.

"What ever possessed you?" Nicolas demanded to know, from midst of laughing at the memory of the globs of clay tricking down the infuriated teacher's chest.

"We thought it would be faster," Ed said modestly.

"And it was too. Got us out of that class at record speed," Al said, looking unusually smug for him – considering that Alphonse was usually the quiet, collected one.

Nicolas looked at the pair of them and then snorted. "You exploded that clay on purpose," he realised. Of course, they should've been able to transform it easily enough, even bake it, that was the sort of transmutation both of them had already mastered, so it made little sense that it had gone so badly. "Why on earth did you do that?"

"It was boring. Making clay figurines, bah. Give me iron and I show you a proper figurine," Ed muttered.

"And the girls were being annoying, saying how _they'd_ be making figurines of their mothers, which _we_ couldn't obviously do since our mom is…" Alphonse trailed away, harrumphing.

"I see," Nicolas answered and laughed again. "Next time, try and use the clay to make a life size statue, rather than blow it up in their faces," he suggested. "That ought to catch their attention just as well."

"It would have to have a lot of air in it," Edward said thoughtfully. "They don't give it all that much clay."

"I'm sure you can figure it out," the alchemist answered.

It wasn't much after that, when he had to get his automail readjusted again. He probably ought to have done it a while ago, but after Pinako had told him that he needed to get rework done on the ports too, he had held out for as long as he could, to get as much growing done before it was absolutely necessary so that it wouldn't be done again any time soon.

This time he made sure Ed and Al where no where near. It was one thing to take off an automail, another thing to strip the port of the panels and supports that attached it to the bone structure. Beneath the port his shoulder was ugly, misshapen mess of scars and skin that hadn't seen daylight in years. The stump of his left leg wasn't as bad, but it wasn't pretty either, and it too needed rework.

Thankfully, the readjusting wasn't as gruesome as he had feared – Pinako kindly enough applied the anaesthesia when he asked for it, knocking him blissfully unconscious for the procedure. He was awake for the rest of the readjusting though, had to be for Pinako to know how to make the precise adjustments in way that was most comfortable, and the sound of her screwing new bolts in – which echoed through his _skeleton_ –was enough to give him nightmares.

"Please tell me I don't have to do this again anytime soon?" he begged, cringing at the sensation of _pull_ at his shoulder, as Pinako tested the screw that was attached to his collarbone.

"If you grow at this rate, in couple more years I'd say," Pinako said, looking satisfied as she moved behind him, to work at the bolts of his shoulder blade. "You're growing pretty fast considering that you were such a shorty when you appeared."

"Probably a late bloomer – guh," Nicolas said, wincing slightly at the sensation of her tugging and prodding at the bolts. He was used to the sensation of automail weighing on his skin, muscles and more than anything on his bones, but having the connections pulled individually was alien and rather disquieting.

"Stop being such a baby, this won't take long," Pinako snapped. Soon enough she was done, and taking out the new plates that would be covering the shoulder. The sensation of the plates being screwed onto the bones was rather like someone had taken a hold of his skeleton and started rattling it about – though, it probably could've been worse. There was no pain, but still…

Once he had his newly adjusted arm and leg back and on after the jarring sensation of reconnecting nerves, he had to admit that it was much better. He had been limping rather badly for more than a month now, and though it would take some getting used to having legs and arms which were about the same length once more, he was definitely looking forward to it.

"I think you need new automail soon," Pinako said thoughtfully, as he stretched and tested his arm, bending it this way and that. "Soon it'll start being too light as well as too short, and it might throw you off balance. It's starting to look a bit skinny, in comparison to the other one, too."

"Is it?" Nicolas asked, holding his hands out and comparing his arms. It was, it turned out. With as much weight lifting as he did, his left arm had grown a bit more muscular, while his automail one had remained the same – and with each adjustment to the length, it seemed only skinnier. His leg was probably worse off.

"I kind of like this design, though," he admitted, turning his hands. He was used to it, and it felt familiar, even if a bit overly long at the moment.

"I think I know the design well enough to make a new one just like it, just more suitable for the man you're growing up to be," Pinako said thoughtfully. "I suppose it's not all that pressing yet. Maybe for your next adjustment, I'll prepare new arm and leg for you. It's going to cost you, of course."

"Of course," Nicolas agreed and then kicked his right leg up, standing on his left one while the automail pointed straight up. "Not bad," he murmured, touching the upturned toes with his automail fingers. "Will take a while to get used to this sort of reach, though. Mind if use your gym?"

"You're always using my gym, Nick," Pinako rolled her eyes, and then turned to put her tools away. "Just put the weights back where you found it and wipe the bench after you're done."

"Will do," he promised, lowering his leg and heading to the exercise room.

Automail wasn't the only thing that needed to be renewed as time went by. One other thing was clothing. Ed and Al were growing too, and it seemed like every other month they grew out of what they wore – and transmuting them bigger only worked for as long as there was fabric to transmute. The fighting, while it happened, didn't help there, thin fabric tore easily, and so it was that they visited the local clothing store fairly often.

And then there were shoes too. It took a while for Nicolas to figure out what to do with the shoes the boys grew out of. They weren't good transmutation material, nor worn enough to be thrown away. He ended up giving them to the local charity who would take them who knew where. It was pity he couldn't do the same with old clothing, since not that many of them survived.

The winter eventually passed by with Al figuring out that he was much better at transmuting liquids than Ed – fact which he not so subtly rubbed at his elder brother's nose by turning pails and piles of water into spouts of snow or statues of ice. Ed answered by transmuting his part of the bunk bed, which led into Al transmuting Ed's juice, Ed transmuting Al's old teddy bear, which led Nicolas to throwing them both out for a while, through different doors.

"If only Trisha had had even one girl," he lamented to Pinako at some point, looking jealously at well behaved Winry, who was happily working with a torn automail hand, screwing bolts in and out and re-enabling finger movement.

"Well, there's a whole another can of worms with girls," the old woman snorted. "Not that much fighting, no, but I am very much not looking forward to when Winry becomes a teenager."

Nicolas grimaced a bit at that. "I guess I'm not either."

Pinako laughed at that, giving him a pointed look. "You do realise that _you_ are a teenager, right?"

"I am at the end of my adolescence," he answered with as much dignity as he could manage, making the woman laugh even more. "Besides, I've never really felt like one," he added after a moment, thinking about it.

"I suppose you wouldn't, at that," she agreed. "More coffee?

He grimaced, but accepted another cup.

x

Edward's birthday came and went with some ceremony – Nicolas bought the cake and the snacks from the village, not being _that_ good at making sweets yet, and most children from the school who were in Edward's and Alphonse's class came over, and Winry too of course. Pinako was there too, as additional adult supervision, and overall, the setup seemed like that of a proper birthday party.

"You sure?" Nicolas asked from the old woman, just to be sure. It was the first birthday party he had ever seen – and he had been the one to arrange it for the most part – so he was a bit nervous about how it turned out. It was Ed's day, after all, he didn't want to be the one to ruin it.

"It's fine. Don't worry about what it's like now – worry about what it will be like once it's over," the mechanic said with a snort. "The after party clean up is the thing you need to be concerned about."

Nicolas doubted it at first, but then the party itself started. It was a noisy, rowdy afternoon, filled with laughing and yelling and crying and Ed prancing about, transmuting things for the others to admire – until someone started throwing things and it developed into a food fight and Nicolas decided to throw everybody outside to cool off.

Most of the gifts Ed got were simple and useless and the mess that Pinako had warned about made Nicolas very glad that birthdays only came about once a year. Even if he was a bit smug about Ed's reaction to his gift – a guide book to freeform alchemy that was above the basics, but no too advanced for the boy to understand – it didn't make the cleaning up any faster.

He was _not_ looking forward to any future birthdays, not if they were anything like this one had been.

Al's birthday was, of course, just month or so after Ed's – and about equally messy.

The year eventually changed and the year of nineteen o' four was replaced by nineteen o' five. While Nicolas marvelled about how long he had been there, in this time – which wasn't even the same time as it had been originally – the world kept on moving the way it had so far. Ed and Al went to school and often complained about it, as did Winry. The war in east continued on and on. He kept on studying, learning more Xingnese each day, translating the texts a little more. It was becoming more or less a routine now.

It was around the time of spring equinox when the news about the war got a little better – there was a break of some sort going on in Ishval, something to do with the local religion, and it seemed like some of the people in action there were going to have the time to visit their homes. Among those people, much to Winry's and Pinako's delight, were Winry's parents, Urey and Sara, who sent a letter ahead saying that they would have a week of liberty at home and that they would be arriving in a day or so.

Nicolas, having never met the couple and having only heard very little about them, since both Pinako and Ed and Al avoided talking about them too much since it tended to make Winry sullen, wasn't sure what to expect. On one hand. Pinako and Winry were close, rather like a second family to him and the boys considering how much time they spent at the Rockbell Automail – and of course, Pinako was the second guardian of Ed and Al too… but then, Sara and Urey were Winry's and Pinako's real family, and vice versa.

Should he and the boys keep a distance and let the four spent the precious time with each other without having to worry about entertaining guests?

In the end, the decision and indecision as it was were taken from his hands when Pinako called the Elric house to tell them to come over already, there were introductions to be made. So, Nicolas, Ed and Al got ready to go and were met in the yard by a very happy Winry who greeted them with, "Mom and Dad are back, they're back!"

As Ed and Al rushed forward to meet her – and meet her parents – Nicolas kept the tail with more sedate pace, catching up with them indoors. "There you are," Pinako greeted him while he looked at the strange man and woman, both fair haired and blue eyed and smiling, curiously. "This is Nicolas, I told you about him, didn't it?"

"Yes, mother, you did," the man, Urey, said while standing up and giving Nicolas a look. "So you're the one. For Van Hohenheim's son, you're a bit on the shorter side aren't you?"

"Excuse me?" Nicolas asked sharply, frowning while somewhere near by Ed and Al snickered.

Urey broke out to a grin and clapped him on the shoulder. "I've heard so much about you, Nicolas. Mother writes entirely too much, but back there, every letter's a delight to read!" he said, and then suddenly took Nicola's right hand, turning it over in his and eying the metallic palm. "Ah, and the automail is as interesting as she said! What kind of rotation do you have in your wrist, does your thumb bend in a angle? What about your fingers, what sort of mobility – oh, and the between elbow and wrist, what sort of rotation do you have? Can you take off your shirt – I want to see your shoulder, mother says it's a interesting sort of design –"

"Urey!" a female voice snapped, and Sara Rockbell stepped forward, dragging her husband back by the collar. "Don't mind him. Automail oil runs in the blood of this family," she said, holding out her right hand. "Doctor Sara Rockbell, at your service."

"A pleasure to meet you ma'am," Nicolas said, taking her hand, only to find that she too went right ahead and turned his hand around.

"Oh, it is interesting looking," Sara said, tilting Nicolas' metal hand so that she could see the wrist joint. "A twist axle with double bearings and a ball joint? And individual sinew-strings too, that's good, that's good… You must have extremely good finger control," she marvelled, knocking her knuckles against the metal. "Oh, interesting alloy too, duralumin, with high amounts of carbon, I'd say. Northern design, maybe?" Then she looked at him seriously. "Can I see your foot?"

"Erm," Nicolas faltered a bit, looking between the man and the wife and then turning to look at Pinako. "Your family is weird," he said as politely as he could manage.

Urey laughed and clapped him on the back. "Never mind, Nicolas, never mind. Come here and sit, tell us how you like our fair village."

The pair of them were a bit excitable about automail – though it probably could be explained with Urey having grown at Pinako's feet and Sara having originated from Rush Valley – but they weren't bad sort of people, Nicolas found. There was something dark in their eyes – no doubt the things they had seen in Ishval- but aside from that they smiled honestly and with very little restraint, only becoming sombre when they talked of Trisha's death and funeral.

"I wished to come for it," Sara admitted. "I asked for a leave four times in a row, but it was a crucial time back then, and they couldn't spare us. We're going to visit Trisha later today, though, take her some flowers and such."

They spoke very little of Ishval at first, but that was probably because of Winry who sat in Urey's lap for the most of the talk, and because of Ed and Al who were listening as keenly as Winry was. When the day stretched though, and Winry begun nodding off, the children were sent to bed – the girl to her room, and the boys to the Rockbell guest rooms – and then the discussion turned dark.

"It's bad," Urey said, when asked what it was like. "And it just keeps going on and on. The Ishvalans know the territory and are hard to find when they don't want to be found – and they're being supplied with arms and such from south, judging by the rumours – so despite the military's obvious superiority, it's still on with no end in sight. The military on other hand just keeps a level force, bringing more people each time someone is lost and just holding the status quo. It's… it's bad."

"I don't see why the military doesn't just end it," Sara admitted. "They could easily bring the man power and weaponry to force Ishval's surrender without making too much damage, but they don't. Instead they're doing what they've been doing for the past five years."

They didn't speak of the people they had seen die, or the atrocities they had witnessed, or the patients they had failed to save. They didn't need to – it all shone out of their tired eyes. And while they talked, avoiding the worst of it while clearly implying it, Nicolas thought of the silver pocket watch in the study, the one that didn't work and which had a scratched up inner lid, and wondered.

Why had he joined the military? What had he _done_ in the military?

Maybe, in the end, it was better he didn't remember.

In the week Urey and Sara were in Resembool, Nicolas got to know them somewhat well – they had been close friends of Trisha's and wanted to know how it had been for her, in the end, and since he had been there for the whole of it, he was the one who got to tell. He also showed them his automail eventually, enduring the almost childish fascination they seemed to have with it, as well as their expertise. They might've not been mechanics themselves, but they were doctors keenly invested in repairing the human body, so they definitely could appreciate the art of automail. And then some.

In return, he admitted to them some about himself – though nowhere near all. He admitted that he had a amnesia and that he couldn't remember his parents at all, that the only reason he knew Hohenheim was his father was because he looked so much like the man. He also admitted that he was honestly fond of Ed and Al despite everything, and even if they weren't fully his brothers, they might've as well been.

"It was a bit awkward at first, but I think we've gotten hang of co-existence. Plus I can cook now, thanks to Pinako, so that's something," he added, thinking of the first awkward, painful weeks.

"I guess that would help, yes," Sara chuckled

"Is it hard for you, being away so often?" he asked carefully after a moment, not wanting to offend.

"Obviously. But… it's justified," she said, sighing and smiling sadly. "Those people really need all the help they can get – not just the military, but the Ishvalans too. So many are caught in the crossfire, children and elderly getting hurt for no reason other than because they just were there. I don't think I could leave Ishval now, knowing what is going on there."

Nicolas thought about it and then nodded. He couldn't imagine it, not quite, he had no idea what Ishval was right up close and personal, but… he could understand. "You're good people."

"We try to be, yes," she agreed and then smiled. "And we want to make Winry proud of the things we've done there, even if it keeps us away so much. She deserves parents she can be proud of."

"Very true."

Urey's and Sara's visit was in the end very short – painfully short for poor Winry – and the week passed by quickly. Just as Nicolas figured that he got why they had been Trisha's best friends, the time was already up, and they were walking the doctor couple to the train station, him and the boys with Pinako and Winry who was suppressing her tears very badly.

"And send many letters," Sara told her daughter. "And pictures too, I want lots of pictures. I want to know everything that happens in Resembool while we're away."

"Yes, mom, I will," Winry answered.

"And take care of your grandmother. She's getting older each day," Urey said seriously, and only narrowly avoided a kick to the shin from that very same older grandmother. "Ow, mom!" he objected

"Act your age," Pinako answered calmly.

"When will you be back the next time?" Winry demanded to know.

"We don't know, honey, but as soon as we can, we're here faster than you can think."

While watching this, Nicolas wasn't sure if he was supposed to feel sorry for Urey and Sara or no. on one hand, they did have to leave their family and that could only be a bad thing, but on other hand… there had been a odd feeling he had been getting from the couple – like they were guilty for being in Resembool, and not in Ishval, working. As guilty as they were about leaving their daughter again, they were also relieved about going back.

It must've been difficult, having to live somewhere between family and what one perceived to be their duty, Nicolas mused. For some odd reason, that made him think of Hohenheim, and about how the man had left Trisha and the boys.

"Now, Nicolas," Urey said, just before they arrived at the platform, putting an arm around Nicolas's shoulders and pulling him a bit to the side. "Take care of the lot of them and bring the boys around to distract Winry often, she'll probably need it. And try and lighten up a bit, you're a too serious. Get a girlfriend or something, that ought to cheer you up a bit."

Nicolas blinked. "A girlfriend?" he asked with some disbelief, wondering what he would do with something like that. With the boys, and his research and studies, wouldn't that just be in the way?

"I'm sure there's a lot of likely ladies in the village who would love to have you spend some time with them," the man grinned, patting his shoulder roughly. "What with the golden eyes and luxurious long blonde hair and all."

"Yeah, and enough scars to last me a life time," Nicolas muttered and shook his head. "I'll do my best to _cheer up_," he promised. "And take care to provide distractions to Winry."

"Good, thank you. Also take some flowers to Trisha's grave just from us every now and then," Urey added a little sadly. "It will probably be a while before we can visit again."

"I'll do that."

Then they reached the train, and Urey and Sara spent their last moments in Resembool, saying good bye to Winry with lots of hugs and kisses that even managed to make her giggle through her tears for a moment. Then it was time for them to board and for the train to disembark and while they watched how the steam billowed and the locomotive begun it's task of hauling the passenger and cargo cars away, Ed and Al flanked weeping Winry, patting her shoulders seriously.

"Well, that's that," Pinako said, castling a glance at Winry and sighing. "Let's go to the café and get some snacks, shall we?"

"Sounds like a good idea," Nicolas nodded, crouching down beside Winry and holding his arms out until she launched herself at him and he could pick her up. Then, with her sobbing to his shoulder, solemn Ed and Al trailing after him and Pinako leading the way, they headed back.

He and the boys spent that night at the Rockbell Automail, with Winry and the boys sleeping together while Nicolas and Pinako talked until late into the night, about the war and about the doctors and alchemists serving in the war, and about how many pieces of automail she would no doubt have to equip before the war ended.

"How long do you think it will last?" Nicolas asked in the end, thinking of how long the war had already been going – five years already.

Pinako scowled. "If it keeps on like this, who knows if it will ever stop."

x

As the spring progressed, Resembool transformed. Plants begun to grow again, and the cool, windy season was replaced by weather which was warmer each day. Some repairs were done in the village to fix whatever was left broken after the winter – and then, the time of sowing begun.

The fields were turned, and even Nicolas and the boys were roped into the work, into ploughing the fields and then planting seeds. Resembool was surrounded by fields, so it was something of a local tradition that everyone helped with the work – their payment would be, eventually, the spring festival which the farmers would throw with whatever stores they had left from the previous harvest.

It wasn't a bad sort of thing, to be working with something so simple after all the studying and researching he had done. It was in a odd way soothing, even, and it gave him plenty of opportunities to try and impart some alchemical philosophy on Edward and Alphonse, who for the most part were interested in only what they could do with alchemy, not with what it _meant_.

"In a way, this is nature's alchemy," Nicolas explained, as the sowed the seeds to what would be, at the end of the following autumn, a field rich with rye. "Plants sprout, grow, wither and die, and what they leave behind transforms the earth they grew up in. And, eventually, new seeds begun to sprout, feeding on the nutrients left behind by those parts that were left behind."

"We know Nick. We _have_ been studying biology at school, you know," Ed answered, rolling his eyes while Alphonse just continued on ahead, not listening at all.

"True enough," the alchemist sighed. Well, he supposed he ought to have been expecting that. These days every time he tried to explain something _else_ except what the boys had specifically asked instruction in, he was pretty much ignored by them.

He really was a bad teacher, wasn't he?

He sighed again and continued on. Maybe one day he'd find someone who _could_ teach the true philosophies behind alchemy to the boys. At least he seriously hoped he could.

The planting took about a week, and the spring festival was that weekend, in the yard of one of the farmsteads, where the main house, the barn, the stables and the storages formed a sort of ring, creating a sheltered courtyard. It was filled to the brim with people and the tables were loaded with food, everything from roasts to bite sized snacks, the pride of the entire feast being enormous pie made from pickled apples from the previous fall.

"I'm never going to eat anything ever again. Ever," Alphonse swore once he and Edward had stuffed themselves to gills and lost their ability to move – or, judging by the sounds of Ed's groans, to breathe properly.

"Yeah, that promise will hold," Nicolas snorted, tearing into a chicken's leg and crouching beside the boys lying on their backs on a patch of grass. "You really ought to have tried the chicken. Mrs. Gall spiced just it _perfectly_. Come on, I'll let you have a bite. It's really quite good."

"Stop talking about eating," Ed moaned, turning away from him and making the Alchemist grin widely.

Somewhat illogically after the eating there was dancing. The tables were mostly cleared, with only some snacks and entire bowls of different sort of drinks left to the tables in the far edges of the courtyard. Then, the local musicians took up their tools, and the violins begun to sing a cheerful tunes to the rhythmical clapping of hands.

Nicolas would've been more than happy to watch the dancers while needling Ed and Al about over eating, if it wasn't for a group of local girls about his age, who edged nearer. Giggling and whispering, they pushed one of their numbers – Mrs. Holden's daughter, wasn't she? She had the same straw blonde hair – forward, much to the poor girl's horror.

"Yes?" Nicolas asked, waiting while the girl blushed and stuttered and refused to meet his eyes.

"I-I was just… I mean… I wouldn't want to –" the girl tried to say.

One of the others laughed behind her. "She wants you to dance with her, Flamel!" she said, pushing at the girl's shoulders and nearly sending her to Nicolas's lap.

"Dance?" he asked with surprise, while Ed and Al's zeroed in on him with all the precision of pre-teenage mischief makers.

"Uu, dance!" they crowed, momentarily forgetting their stomachs in order to leer at him. "Go and dance Nick! We'll cheer you up from here!"

Giving them a irritated glance, he turned to face the blushing girl. "I'm sorry, I don't know how to dance," he said with as much dignity as he could muster.

That, in the end, didn't mean anything. With the doubled efforts of the group of girls and Ed and Al, he and the straw blonde were more or less thrown into the crowd. It was, perhaps, one of the most awkward experiences Nicolas had suffered so far, trying to figure out the mechanics of the dancing, while not bumping into other people in the crowd and avoiding stepping on the girl's toes. The result was less than impressive – fact which Ed and Al would no doubt never let him forget.

He got a little better during the second dance, which was with another girl whose name he didn't know. By the third dance, he was good enough to not cause anyone any physical injury. Fourth, fifth and sixth went somewhere along the way, mostly thanks to the fact that someone had passed him a drink of something that made the world spin, and he wasn't sure when he stopped dancing.

Only thing he knew was that at some point he found himself alone behind the barn with some girl, and dancing had nothing on the awkwardness of sharing kisses with someone he didn't know and didn't find particularly attractive. Getting away from her was trouble and a half.

"Having fun?" Pinako asked with amusement, when he passed her by.

"I think that's more fun than I really need, thanks," he said, and then found himself face to face with wildly laughing Ed and Al. "I think maybe it's time you two headed home," he said, frowning.

"No, no, this is way too much fun. God, you should see yourself!" Ed crowed happily, pointing at his face.

"Mirror, mirror, we need a mirror," Alphonse agreed with delighted grin – and somehow managed to persuade a nearby old lady to hand over her powder case for a moment. Through its tiny mirror, Nicolas found that his glasses were askew, his hair was coming out of it's braid, and his face was covered in red smears.

"Lovely," he muttered, wiping at his lips embarrassedly. "Maybe it's time _I_ head home," he added a bit sullenly.

Of course neither he nor the boys left early – no one in their right mind left the spring festival early, it just wasn't done. Even the kids stayed up until after midnight that day, it was a tradition. And so they stayed, Nicolas spending the rest of the party avoiding any female older than fifteen and younger than twenty five as well as he could, but with only varying degrees of success.

In the end, though, he couldn't say that the night was anything but fun. Ed and Al enjoyed themselves in way they hadn't in a while, they even managed to bring Winry out of her bout of depression and to dance with them in a haphazard manner that seemed to have very little to do with the actual music being played. Pinako gossiped with the local women, who happily gossiped back and in the end Nick figured that he didn't mind _dancing_ all that much, so as long as that was all it was. Overall, great fun was had all around.

The next morning, Nicolas really wished that the people who had gotten him drunk would've paid more mind to the fact that he was still under age, despite everything. Ed and Al of course woke up in good spirits and fully prepared to torture him for the entire day with loud noises and bright lights, making Nicolas swear that he would never touch anything even remotely alcoholic.

After that, life returned to it's usual courses. Ed and Al continued to go to school, Pinako continued to run her Automail shop, and Winry eventually became her cheerful self again. And Nicolas continued, as ever, to study.

The Xingnese had slowly but steadily become clearer to him as time had gone by. He still had to check the more obscure or rarely used symbols, and then there were times when the brushwork was simply so artistic that it only gave in a headache when he tried to understand it, but he had the basic language down and he needed a dictionary less and less as he worked to translate the passages of Hohenheim's foreign books into Amestrian.

With that understanding, the art of alkahestry begun slowly reveal itself to him. Alkahestry wasn't quite like alchemy, though in some basic sense it was naturally similar. It however didn't use the same power Amestrian alchemy did, nor the same forms – alkahestry was almost completely based on the pentagram rather than on mixtures of various polygons because it was, indeed, all freeform transmutation. Thus, it relied even more heavily on understanding over what was being transmuted than alchemy did – especially considering that majority of alkahestry's uses were medicinal.

"Now, what does this bit about Dragon's Veins and Lifeblood means?" he muttered, after managing to read through one book about basics of Alkahestry. The Veins, whatever they were, were mentioned often – in terms of understanding them, drawing from them and using them in sending power from start circle to the designated area. Alkahestry worked over _distance_, which was something Nicolas already had some trouble wrapping his mind around. But what were the Veins anyway?

He turned to another of the Xingnese books, and then another, trying to find some clue. He had just taken up a book which wasn't about Alkahestry at all, but Xingnese geology for some reason, when Ed and Al snuck up behind him.

There were two loud pops and suddenly he was being showered by confetti. "Happy birthday!" the boys chorused, making him glance back with some surprise.

"What?" he asked, surprised, looking at the party poppers they were holding.

"Happy birthday," Ed said, grinning.

"It's fourteenth of May," Alphonse said, with equally wide smile. "The day you came here – and since we don't know your actual birthday, this will do. So. Happy birthday!"

"Come on," Ed said, reaching out to take Nicolas's hand. "We made you something!"

Confused and too surprised to object, he followed them out of the study, down the stairs and into the kitchen, where the table was set with plates, glasses, juice – and a rather lopsided cake, with seventeen candles standing haphazardly on top of it.

"You baked me a cake?" Nicolas asked with surprise, glancing at the sink and wincing a bit at the sight of the mess they had made.

"Yup! Granny Pinako and Winry taught us," the boys grinned, dragging him to the table. "It's not as bad as it looks, really. We just couldn't get the frosting right," Alphonse added.

"Also, here," Edward added, taking a small box from a chair, holding it up to him. "We didn't know what to get you, so we transmuted something."

"Really? You didn't have to," Nicolas answered, feeling a little out of his depth. "Um. Should I open it now, or try the cake first?" he asked then, placing the box carefully to the table.

"Try the cake first," Ed demanded and he did. It really wasn't as bad as it looked – though maybe a little too sweet, it was moist and overall not a bad result of the work of a five and six year old. The boys themselves ended up eating most of it, though considering that they had been the ones to make it, they deserved it.

After the cake, Nicolas turned to the box again. He hadn't noticed the boys working on anything special lately, but then again, they were transmuting or studying transmutation circles so often, that they could've easily slipped something secret right past him. Curious, he tugged at the string to open it, before pealing the wrapping away, to reveal a cardboard box filled with dry hay.

Inside it, there was the most delicate figurine he had ever seen – a crystal origami crane, paper thin and gleaming in the lamp light. A little awed, Nicolas very carefully took the figurine out of it's hay cradle, holding it to the light. It really looked like someone had taken a sheet of crystal and folded it into a crane.

"This is amazing," he said honesty, while the boys preened with pride. "Is it just glass, or actual crystal?"

"Lead glass," Alphonse answered. "We read about it in school and did some research about it, and decided to try that, instead of just normal glass."

"We used silica sand and about thirty two percent lead oxide – which wasn't easy to get, by the way, we had to make it," Ed added, folding his arms. "But it makes the glass shinier so it was worth it."

"I'd say," Nicolas agreed, turning the figurine this way and that and admiring the gleam of light on the straight lines of it's wings and head. "It's _very_ well done. Thank you."

Pinako and Winry visited that day too, a little later. They brought with them their own cake – a slightly smaller and slightly better made than the one Ed and Al had cooked up. Their gifts however had nothing on what the boys had given – though Nicolas did appreciate the automail cleaning kit from Pinako and the metal polish from Winry, they weren't exactly gifts from the heart.

"At least there is a purpose and use for what you got from us," Pinako answered with a snort, when he did a comparison, making Ed and Al scowl at her darkly.

"Yes, but they're still not quite as pretty," Nicolas answered calmly, while eying the glass crane and smiling. The boys, predictably enough, preened once more.

They stopped preening, however, after the Rockbells had left, the cake was gone and there was a pile of dishes to look into – dishes, which Nicolas did not intend to do all by himself on his own birthday.

_Birthday_. Of course, it wasn't really his actual birthday, was it? His birthday was the same as Edward's – so he was probably some half a year older than seventeen already. Except who knew what time of the year it had been that day in the future when he had been thrown backwards in time, so it probably wasn't precisely right either…

Then he realised with some shock that it had been a _year_. He had been in the past for a _year_ already. Had it really been that long? It didn't feel like it – and in the same time, it felt more than like it. It felt like he had never been anywhere else.

"Well, here's to many more years like this to come," he murmured to himself later on, while gently setting the glass crane onto the window sill of the study, where it caught the rays of the early evening sun and shone even brighter than before. He smiled at it and then glanced at the armour standing in the corner of the study. "Nice, isn't it?" he asked proudly.

The armour said nothing. He took it as a sign of agreement.

xx

Bit of time skipping and living and stuff. Not telling who Nick will be paired with, that will come about eventually, but I'll say this much: only one of you has guessed the pairing right.

My apologies for possible grammar errors.


	6. Good and bad teachers

Warnings; Spoilers, time travel, amnesia, death of character, etc. FMA manga and Brotherhood based, has nothing what so ever to do with 2003 anime. **Will be slash.**

**Disorient**  
**Chapter 6  
****Good and bad teachers**

One year eventually became two, and then three. In that time Nicolas saw Resembool from all possible angles, watched the seasons come and go, and how things slowly but inevitably changed. Winry, Edward and Alphonse grew – Winry doing it the fastest among them, much to Ed's horror. Nicolas himself grew as well as he went from seventeen to eighteen and nineteen, and he had to get his automail ports readjusted twice in those years despite Pinako's original estimation. He also had his original automail completely replaced with similar, but dimensionally larger versions that fit his growing body better.

Overall though, the more things changed, the more they stayed the same. Most of the time he spent in researching and studying, flickering between alchemy and alkahestry which, despite the fact that he now understood far more than the mere basics, was unwilling to be performed. But there was a lot to study, and lot of study material to go through. There were also his own research, which had gone from one notebook to six as he had written down everything more special he knew – Philosopher's Stone, human transmutation, soul transmutation, time travel…

And of course, there was also the study material he had to prepare. Ed and Al were progressing with their own alchemical studies as well, and the further they went, the more trouble Nicolas had in teaching them. The more they knew, the more specified their needs became – and Nicolas was extremely bad at explaining specified things. Ed called what he always somehow ended up doing _info dumping_ which, true enough, was probably what it sounded like.

"Great alchemist. Pitiful teacher," was Al's pronouncement.

In the mean while, things moved on the world around them. The Ishval war continued on and on, having entered it's seventh year. What news were heard from there were grim and grimmer, and even the letters from Sara and Urey weren't all that cheerful – for a year or so now, they had treating Ishvalan civilians alone, and there was never end to the flood of their patients.

Overall, though, they hadn't been bad years at all. Despite whatever was going outside Resembool, the village itself was calm and quite quaint, and very easy to place to live in once one had a place there. Whatever objections there might've been to Nicolas' illegitimacy had faded away, as he had performed alchemy for the good of the villagers over the years, fixing broken things like tools, fences, houses, and whatnot. The folk at Resembool very much liked having an alchemist around – especially one willing to help. Hohenheim, as much of a local pride as he had been, had usually been too deep in his studies to bother it seemed.

There was something's that bothered him though, more so as more time went by. Nicolas still didn't know why he was in the past. He didn't even know _how_, despite having spent months trying to figure out even the base theories behind alchemical time travel. That, on top of the fact that logically speaking he should've mastered at least the simplest of alkahestrical transmutations, he hadn't managed to perform even _one_ yet. Hell, he couldn't even sense the mythical Dragon's Veins that all alkahestry was based on… well, he felt some irritation about that.

"It almost feels like I've exhausted my resources," he admitted to Pinako one late afternoon, while they were sitting in the automail clinic's porch after he exhausted himself at her gym, something he did more and more often these days.

He had read all of Hohenheim's books from cover to cover, some even twice – he had even read the extremely tedious _Study_ _of the Military History of Amestris_ which, despite it's subject martial, was written to be about as exciting as a study of filing cabinets. He knew that Hohenheim's library of Alkahestry was probably the most thorough in all of Amestris – he hadn't been able to find a single book on alkahestry anywhere – and though he could order some alchemy texts, they rarely taught him anything he didn't already know.

After running into that block, well… working out was more interesting than sitting still and twiddling his thumbs while waiting for Ed and Al to come back from school.

"Well, in here there's only limited amount of resources you could have anyway," the old mechanic mused, inhaling through her pipe. "Maybe you ought to look elsewhere."

Nicolas wiped some of the sweat off his forehead and looked away, and to the yard. The problem there was not that he didn't want to – but that he wanted _too much_. The odd sort of wanderlust had been bothering him for a while now, ever since his studies had came to a complete dead end, which had been months ago. He wanted to leave Resembool, had been for a while now – to travel, to see the ruins of Xerxes and maybe even cross the eastern desert and talk to an actual alkahestry user, maybe even a master, and figure out why he hadn't managed to use it yet…

But there were the boys. Even through they were growing older and were rather mature for their ages, Ed and Al were still kids, Ed being eight and Alphonse only seven. They could handle themselves, he knew as much, they could manage, but… they were still kids. And he was their legal guardian, even if the position was shared.

Of course, he could've just taken the boys with him to where ever he went – seeing the ruins of Xerxes would be a experience for them all, maybe even a learning one, but… it didn't seem quite right. Ed and Al ought to have been studying alchemy, under a proper teacher instead of one who couldn't moderate lessons to save his life. Not flouncing about the world after a notion that Nicolas himself couldn't quite clarify.

Pinako stared at him, when he said nothing and just continued to look guilty. "You really are your father's son, you know," she said, shaking her head. "It always amazed me how he could stay still here in Resembool as long as he did before he left. He was always coming and going back when we met – hell, at time, I was travelling with him. It was pretty interesting."

"You're saying that wanderlust is a family trait?" Nicolas asked with some amusement.

"I think in this case it is. Alchemy and wanderlust," she said thoughtfully, while lowering her pipe. "It's not a bad thing, Nicolas. The world is a big place, and everyone deserves to see more than their immediate surroundings of it."

Nicolas sighed and shook his head. He wanted to, he really did, for so many reasons. Too many reasons. "Maybe," he said after a while. "If I find a alchemical master for the boys, then… maybe."

"You might have better luck with that if you'd just go and look around. You're not going to find one from Resembool," the woman snorted. "Three years of trying and failing ought to have told that to you already."

"Yeah, but I can't just up and leave like that," the alchemist sighed and shook his head before stretching his arms. "Mind if I use your shower?"

"Go ahead," Pinako said, and blew a cloud of smoke at the sky. "Be quick about it. It looks like it'll rain," she then commented. "You probably want to head home before it starts."

"Yeah, thanks Pinako," Nicolas said, and headed inside to wash the sweat off. On his way there, he opened the tie binding the end of his braid and started untangling his hair, sighing to himself.

He liked Resembool, he really did. It felt a bit like betrayal to feel such a strong urge to leave. Especially with Ed and Al being still so young. Older, though, but still young.

Well, there was still time, both to find what the boys needed and to travel once the proper, right opportunity presented itself. His timeline, if it could be called that, was still far from being up – three years had passed in relative quiet, sure, but there were more than seven more to go.

The rain that Pinako predicted started that day, continued until the next one, and the day after that, first as a drizzle that kept Ed and Al engaging in any outdoor transmutation practice, then as heavier fall that made Nicolas transmute a barrier between the porch and the yard which was starting to gather something of a puddle, and finally as downpour. It muddied the fields and turned the road into puddle tracks, and Nicolas had a bad feeling that the attic had a leak too.

"Isn't it supposed to be summer?" Ed complained the third day, after he and Al had ran home under the shelter of umbrellas and raincoats, and still gotten soaked.

"Weather doesn't always follow the commonly established patterns. Mostly not, actually," Nicolas mused, peering outside the window. He frowned a little and then looked away. Rain always made him feel a bit apprehensive, and he wished it would've been sunny summer day even more than Ed and Al probably did. It most likely had something to do with Trisha.

"Go and take warm showers, boys," he added, while reaching to tug the curtain down. "I'll make you some hot chocolate."

"Mine in water," Ed demanded quickly.

"Yes, yes, yours in water, Al's in milk, I know," Nicolas said and then paused as he saw something in the rain. Someone was running up, and towards the house.

He opened the door just in time to let in Mr. Llyod, one of the local farmers. "Flamel, you're here, good!" the man gasped, out of breath and soaking wet, his greying hair plastered on his forehead by the rain. "We need your help. The river's overflowing on the south bank side, just next to the Finkel farm, and levee won't hold – if it goes down, we'll lose probably half of the harvest!"

Nicolas quickly brought up a mental map of the Resembool's surrounding areas and frowned. "Right," he said. The river passed just by four of Resembool's biggest farms, if it was overflowing enough, it would be probably flood all the fields on that side.

"Ed, Al, go and take your bath," he said while fetching his own raincoat. "Get yourselves warm."

"No, we want to come with you," Ed said quickly, reaching for his own traincoat.

"We can help!" Al added when Nicolas opened his mouth to object.

"And besides," Edward said, "the moment you leave, we'll just come after you no matter what you say."

"Yep," Alphonse nodded.

Nicolas scowled at the pair of them, pulling his coat on. "Fine. But take your umbrellas with you," he said. "And if I tell you to stay back, you stay back."

"Right," the boys agreed in unison, and got their umbrellas again. They, having not taken off their rain gear completely, were ready quicker than Nicolas was, and soon he, the boys and Mr. Llyod were all running away from the house and towards the river as quickly as they could manage.

It was raining cats and dogs, and it was hard to see more than twenty feet ahead – would've been, even if Nicolas's glasses hadn't gotten completely covered with water within the first seconds. The road was in worse condition than Nicolas had realised, muddy and wet and sinking beneath every step – he almost fell couple of times, There was no time to lament the horridness of the weather, though – though it wasn't a short distance, they eventually made it to the river.

Most of the farmers there already, piling sand bags by the river side and trying to stop the water from spilling out – with less than perfect results. Beyond the levee, the river was churning violently, with three foot waves and more, raging on wilder than Nicolas had ever seen it.

"Flamel's here!" someone called when Nicolas hurried forward, snatching a wet, muddy stick from the ground as he went.

"Is there anything you can do?" someone asked as he passed them by.

"I'll try," Nicolas promised, and made his way quickly to the levee. He went through several possible solutions in his mind before deciding on a quick earthen wall – they would have to support from the other side, it wouldn't hold indefinitely, but it would hold the river for a moment.

"Clear a space," he called, and then stared sketching the circle hurriedly into the ground – only to find that it was too muddy, and the moment he was done making only the circle, the mud had already tricked into it, breaking the pattern – and the water was definitely not helping. "Shit!" he grunted, making Ed and Al gape at him. "I can't draw a circle here – does anyone have a rope?!" he roared into the surrounding area. It would be slower to lay out, but at least the rain wouldn't be abler to wash it away. "I need rope, at least ten feet in length."

That was when the levee broke, and water splashed down, soaking him and the boys. Quickly he caught them by their waists and hauled them back and away from the spill that very efficiently ruined all his plans of making a transmutation circle from rope.

"Go up there," he snapped to the boys, after hauling them up and to dried ground. "And keep clear! I don't want you being washed away."

"Can we help at all?" Ed demanded, while Al wiped the water off his face.

"Right now you help me the most by _staying safe_ and not giving me anything else to worry about," Nicolas answered, and turned back to broken levee they were trying to desperately patch, with little success.

Drawing a circle in this weather and situation was out of question. He needed something more permanent. Grimacing, he glanced at his hands before letting out a hiss and taking out a small penknife he had taken to carrying with him, just in case something just like this happened.

Before he could go about carving the transmutation circle into his automail – and risking Pinako's eternal enmity in that act – someone else stepped forward. "Stand back, it's dangerous here," a female voice called and Nicolas could head Llyod's answer, "That's what I was just about to say! Lady, stay back, the levee won't hold!" before he glanced up.

He looked just in time to see the woman with dark dreadlocks slapping her palms together and crouch down to slam her palms to the ground beneath the water. The penknife nearly dropped from Nicolas's hands as he watched and _felt_ the drain of alchemy, as it sucked the materials from right beneath his feet and towards the task the woman had send it to. Next thing he knew, earthen wall sprung up from the water, first one, then others at the first one's side, and two more and more until the levee was completely covered by ten foot earthen walls, standing between them, and the raging river.

"You need to back it up!" the woman said, turning to look at the stunned Farmers and at Nicolas who stood and stared with wide eyes, his glasses slipping down his nose. "The wall won't hold for too long on it's own – you need to pile the sand bags behind it, to support it."

Nicolas, and probably everyone else, just stared at her. She had performed alchemy, he thought dully. She had performed alchemy. Without transmutation circles. On her palms maybe – no, he could see one of them, they were clear, untattooed. She had performed alchemy without any sort of array – she had performed alchemy _by clapping her hands_…

"Oh, uh… Yes ma'am!" someone answered then, and another asked, "W-where did you come from? Who are you?"

The woman smiled, seemingly not even noticing the miserable weather or the fact that she was probably just as soaked as the rest of them. "Just a passing house wife!" she said cheerfully. There was a man definitely not from Resembool at her side now – a _behemoth_ of a man, someone Nicolas was sure he wouldn't have forgotten if he had ever seen him.

Not that he cared. His mind was still frozen at the notion of circleless alchemy. He knew there were ways to simplify an alchemical circle – if you memorised the details by heart, the overall shape was enough – and then there was the alkahestry which used extremely simplified circles, but… without _any circle_? How was that…

His eyes widened, his blood seemed to turn into ice, as the memory that even three years of alchemical and alkahestrical studies hadn't managed to unearth. But then, of course it wouldn't – because all of that was alchemy as developed by people. They had developed over hundreds of years on this and that side of the eastern desert maybe, but it was still just the handiwork of _people_. This, on other hand, _this_ was something else.

There was a door creaking open somewhere in the back of Nicolas' head, a dark stone door with the Sephirothic Tree of Life carved in it.

Yes. That was it, he thought dully, as it came back to him. Yes. _Of course_.

Then the woman was suddenly bent over, coughing blood, and the stillness that had seemed to consume the world in mocking whiteness passed. "Izumi!" the big man at the female alchemist's side cried, catching the woman by her shoulders as she coughed – then the man hurriedly picked her up, as she fainted much to everyone's horror.

Nicolas came back to himself, his palms tingling with the understanding, the _knowledge_ of what they were capable of doing. Not now, though, this wasn't the time. "Come on!" he called to the big man. "You better get her out of the rain – the clinic isn't that far away, you should be able to make it there in five minutes if you hurry."

"Yes. Yes, right," the big man said, while Nicolas called to Ed and Al, telling them to lead the man and his fainted wife to the clinic.

"I'll be right behind you, I'll help them reinforce the levee here," he promised. "Just go!" he told them, and seriously they nodded and turned to lead the big stranger away from the riverside.

In the end, there was little to do. With the earth wall up, the piling of sand bags was easier and quickly done, and once there were two cartloads of them piled up behind the earth wall, it would take more than a ravenous river to bring them down. Once the work was done, the farmers breathed sighs of relief and then posted some sentries by the river side to warn if something like it happened again.

"Could you do that?" Llyod asked, as he, Nicolas and some of the others headed back towards the town, to see their unsuspected saviour. "Just by clapping your hands like that?

"Probably not, not like she did," Nicolas answered, though he wasn't entirely sure how truthful he was being. The white and black and the Gate loomed somewhere in the back of his mind, so comfortable there that he actually had to wonder why he hadn't noticed their _absence_ before. There was knowledge uncoiling there, a notion that he could've never came up with himself, a sort of theory – no, not a theory, a proven _fact_, a hard solid _truth_.

That the human body was a series of lines and circles, flows and counter currents – fluids in motions, sinews connecting bones and muscles, skin wrapping everything in it's protective layer. Human body was in essence the perfect and infinite transmutation array. It was a circle, never ending line, the circular flow of blood and arching shapes of the bones, symmetry and dissymmetry in perfect, nearly divine harmony.

It almost seemed obvious, but in the same time, it didn't. The entire concept was too broad, too complicated – it had hundreds of layers and thousands of meanings, each muscle and bone, arch and curve, every layer of skin and fat and membrane – each _cell_ – had it's meaning and symbolism. And yet, all of it, the entire concept, was a single thought, a _notion_ so big that no human mind could've ever thought of it.

It made him shudder to have it inside his head, already so integrated into him that he knew that he would never again have to draw a transmutation circle – there was none so complicated, that it couldn't be found in the human body – and yet… he knew it wasn't _his_. It wasn't _his thought._ It was like someone – no, some _thing_ – had put it into his mind. Slammed it there with a sledgehammer.

As they reached the clinic, he wondered belatedly why he hadn't thrown up.

The woman had regained her consciousness and had been medicated. "… old affliction," she was explaining to some of the village people who had came to see her already. "You could say that I have one hell of a ulcer."

"Ah, I see. That's very unfortunate for you."

Seeing Ed and Al in the edges of the room, Nicolas moved past the others as they talked, and approached the thoughtful looking boys. "Nick," Ed said as he saw the elder alchemist. "That was alchemy, what she did, right?"

"How did she do it without an array?" Al asked.

"There is a… trick to it," Nicolas answered, crouching down before them, and reaching out to test their foreheads, just in case. It had been raining heavily and they had remained in the rain a little longer than absolutely necessary, after all. It didn't seem that they were any hotter or colder than normal though.

"Could you do it?" Ed asked curiously.

"Well," Nicolas trailed away, a bit awkward. "We'll talk about that later."

"You're an alchemist?" the strange woman's voice intruded their quiet little conversation, making Nicolas glance up. She was giving him a thoughtful look. "You were trying to draw a circle in the mud before."

"With less than stellar results. We would've been in real trouble if you hadn't shown up," Nicolas admitted, standing up again. "That was very interesting bit of alchemy you performed, Mrs…?"

"Curtis, Izumi Curtis," she said, and then motioned at the mountain of a man who was even now hovering at her side. "And this is my hubby, Sig. We're tourists here, we were just passing by when he heard about the river."

"And it's a great thing you did," someone said, making her smile.

Nicolas though said nothing and instead eyed her thoughtfully. He knew that alchemy, the one she had used so easily. It took more concentration than activating a circle, to maintain one inside one's body the way she had – the way he now knew he too could do. The _trick_ to it was, in a way, permanent, but not easy to use. Yet, she had done it without much difficulty.

She had to be one magnificent alchemist, but then that only made sense, seeing that she, too, had tried to perform human transmutation.

Glancing between Ed and Al and then the woman, a quiet, sneaky thought came to Nicolas. He had been wanting to find someone else to teach the boys some alchemy, and here was an obviously skilled alchemist, right before him. Who knew what sort of teacher she was, but Nicolas was getting a good, almost nostalgic feel that usually bode well for whatever was happening. Had this happened in his past too? Probably, nothing he could've done in the past would've instigated this meeting, so it probably had stayed the same through whatever changes he had made to the events…

And if he knew Ed and Al at all – and himself – he got a pretty good idea how they had reacted that way around. By the looks of Ed's and Al's face and how the boys were glancing at each other seriously, that reaction was even now budding in their minds, probably having come to them long before he had gotten notion.

"Can we?" Ed asked then from Nicolas who held up a hand in _wait_ gesture.

"Where are you from, Mrs. Curtis, if you don't mind me asking?" he enquired

"From Dublith. Hubby runs a butcher's shop there, we're only taking a vacation and travelling during it right now. We're about to head back, though," she answered, and Nicolas mind span with what he knew of Dublith. He knew there was a university there, and some great libraries because of it. He also knew that it was moderately nice place. It was far away, but… so were the ruins of Xerxes.

"I suppose we can ask her," he then said to Ed and Al, who immediately rushed forward.

"Granny!" they called, reaching her bed's side. "Please teach us alchemy!"

Her shift from pleasantly calm and accommodating to furiously ticked off was immediate. "What was that?!" she snapped, and for a moment it looked like she was about to get up and throw the bed and everything else at the boys.

"Ah," the boys, seeming to realise their mistake, back pedalled quickly. "Please teach us, miss?" they asked a bit more tentatively.

"No," she snapped.

"Why not?!" they demanded, with Al continuing with, "We already know some alchemy, you wouldn't have to teach the basics," and Ed starting with, "We want to learn more, lots more!"

"Absolutely not! I don't take disciples," Mrs. Curtis answered with a harrumph, and turned away. "And I am returning to Dublith!"

Nicolas smiled faintly, pushing his hands into his pockets. If something like that derailed Ed and Al, he'd eat his glasses – and of course, it didn't. The louder she said no, the louder they pleaded, having mastered the art of it long ago back when Nicolas had started building immunity to pleading looks and they had started to resort to sheer stubbornness and loudness instead.

Eventually the boys were hanging from her arm as she tried to push and wave them off, crying "Please accept us as your disciples!" as she waved them around, telling them to let go of her.

"Why are you guys so darned interested in alchemy anyway?!" she finally snarled at them, having shaken them off enough to point her finger accusingly at them. "What would a pair of pint sized pipsqueaks like you do with alchemy?"

It was a testament to Ed's force of will that he didn't explode at her face while Al answered; "I want to learn medicinal alchemy, and become a doctor!"

Mrs. Curtis seemed to hesitate at that, but she frowned. "And you?" she asked from Ed.

"I just want to make life better for people," Ed answered back sullenly.

The woman wavered a bit, and then turned sharp eyes at Nicolas. "You're an alchemist, and a family member to these brats, aren't you?" she snapped. "Why haven't you taught them if they want to learn that much?"

"He has!"

"He sucks at teaching!"

Giving the boys a frown, Nicolas stepped forward. "I am far better researcher and a theorist, than I'm an instructor," he admitted. "I can show them how to make a circle work, or how to develop one for certain purposes, but I can't teach them the more important things about alchemy, the sort you need to know to be a real alchemist," he added and shrugged his shoulder. "The core philosophies. Every time I try, they get glassy eyed."

"He sounds like textbook," Ed agreed with a fervent nod.

The woman frowned at him, and then at the boys, and then folded her arms. "And your parents would approve?" she asked a little irritably.

"I'm their guardian, as well as their brother," Nicolas explained. "They're more or less orphans."

The woman blinked, and then gave a singularly uncomfortable look at Ed and Al. "…oh," she said, and was then faced with serious, expectant faces of the boys who waited for her verdict. "Well…" she hesitated and then sighed running a hand over her forehead. "I am way too weak at kids," she muttered and then pointed a finger at the boys. "One month. I'll give you one month of trial period, and if you can handle it, then I'll decide whether I will bother teaching you."

She frowned, with a glint in her eyes. "I will see what you know, what you can do, if I can teach you anything. You need to show me your skills and your intelligence – and how determined you are! And if you can't make it…" she smiled almost meanly. "Then you'll come back here immediately."

"And… and if we do make it?" Al asked seriously.

"Then I will accept you and officially train you to be alchemists," she nodded, and then turned to Nicolas. "They will have to come with me to Dublith, however. I am not staying here."

"That's fine, I'll come along, get a place at a hotel or something while you test them. It should give me a chance to study the libraries of Dublith," Nicolas answered.

Mrs. Curtis narrowed her eyes. "I won't take any suggestions about my teaching methods," she said then. "I won't go easy on them even if you beg."

"Please don't," Nicolas agreed and smiled, giving Ed and Al a glance. "I've gone too easy on them, maybe that's part of the problem I have with teaching them. Please don't hold back at all."

"Well then," Mrs. Curtis grinned, and cracked her knuckles. "One month, then. And if they start screaming for uncle before it, they're out on their behinds before they can say _equivalent exchange_."

Ed and Al glanced at each other and nodded seriously. "You better pack a lot," they said to Nicolas. "We'll be staying in Dublith for a _long while_."

"We'll see, won't we?" Nicolas agreed and smiled.

Later, after the rain had let down a little, and most of the village people had headed back to their own houses, Nicolas send Ed and Al home so that he could have a private talk with the female alchemist.

"Is this really alright?" she asked thoughtfully, once they were alone with her quiet, but very present husband looming at her side. "Those boys are pretty young and what I will do to them would make grown men weep."

"Kids handle some things better than adults too. It's fine," Nicolas answered. "That's not why I wanted to have a private word, though," he added and gave her a thoughtful look. "You've committed the taboo, haven't you?"

Her eyes widened, while Sig Curtis stood up, with a dangerous look at his face. Mrs. Curtis held up her hand to calm the man, however, looking at Nicolas seriously. "How do you know?"

The younger alchemist shrugged, and then tugged at the top buttons of his shirt, tugging it to the side to show the automail port and scars surrounding it. "My left leg is this way too," he admitted, leaning back on the chair he had pulled himself. "I'm not accusing you of anything, I'm not a hypocrite," he added at her frown.

"… I see," she murmured and folded her arms. "But if you too have… how come you were trying to draw a circle, instead of using your body as the construction symbol? Shouldn't you too know how?"

"I didn't. I have some… memory problems and I need to see things before I remember them," he said, buttoning his shirt up again and folding his arms. "I knew I had performed human transmutation, I know so much about it, but I didn't remember everything. When I saw you performing circleless alchemy, I remembered the _truth_."

He smiled faintly at her disbelieving look. "That's also not why I wanted to talk with you," he added a bit self deprecatingly. "Ed and Al lost their mother three years back to an epidemic," he explained. "We knew it would happen and we were prepared to it, but they had some… notions afterwards. I think I've managed to persuade them to not consider it again, but… but they are too smart for their own good at times."

"Oh, I see," Mrs. Curtis said. "Now I understand. You haven't been able to teach them the core philosophies, you said. That's why you want someone else to teach them, someone who can do that better."

"Alchemy is, at the moment, just means to an end to them, and an occupation no different from being a mechanic or a doctor or a store clerk," Nicolas said. "They don't understand the art, the intrinsic meaning, the weight and depth – or the importance of Equivalent Exchange. For normal boys wanting to learn alchemy that wouldn't really matter, but Ed and Al taught themselves to read on alchemical texts before Al had even turned four, and Ed was performing alchemy, untaught and undisciplined but alchemy nonetheless, when he was just five."

"Hm. I can see the danger in there," the woman murmured thoughtfully. "However, that doesn't mean that I will go back on what I said. If they don't pass my test I will send them away, and that will be that."

Nicolas nodded and stood up. "I'll accept that. However, in case you do, I'd appreciate if you could point me to the direction of some other alchemist I might be able to convince to teach them. Resembool is so far from everything, that I've no luck so far."

"I'll see what I can do," Mrs. Curtis answered, and leaned back on the hospital bed where she was sitting. "We're leaving tomorrow on the noon train," she added. "First to East City and from there to Dublith. You better be ready then."

"We will be," Nicolas promised. "Thank you for your time."

"Before you go, though… your name?" the woman asked. "The boys are Edward and Alphonse Elric, I caught that much. But not your name."

The younger alchemist smiled crookedly and introduced himself. "It's Nicolas Flamel. I'm their father's illegitimate son," he explained. "Trisha - Ed's and Al's mother - took me in before her death."

"Hm. And the human transmutation?"

"My own mother, probably, but I have no way of saying for sure. I still don't remember everything, just the alchemical details."

The woman considered that. "Amnesia," she murmured, while resting her hand on her stomach. "On top of having lost both your arm and your leg…" She then shook her head and gave him a look which wasn't as much pity or understanding as it was some sort of bitter kinship. "I will see you tomorrow, Nicolas Flamel."

"Yes. Good night, Mrs. Curtis, Mr. Curtis," Nicolas said, bowing his head. "And thank you."

x

Nicolas, Edward and Alphonse said their goodbyes that evening, and packed their things the next morning, Nicolas selecting one of Hohenheim's suitcases for himself while the boys packed their school bags. Feeling oddly nostalgic as he hoisted the brown suitcase up, Nicolas looked over Trisha's house and sighed.

Three years.

It felt odd leaving. It had been long time coming, he had known that, but it felt so… sudden. Maybe he had been grasping at straws, when letting the boys demand tutelage from Izumi Curtis. Maybe they shouldn't leave just yet, but instead give it some more thought. Maybe there was still something that could be done here.

But…

He sighed, running a hand over his forehead, up to the shorter strands of hair surrounding his face then over his head and down the braid, which now reached his middle back. There was little more any of them could do here. He had reached the limits of his teaching ability long ago – Ed and Al were tired with trying to figure things out, and the school didn't help, having a distinct lack of funds and inability to teach the boys anything they didn't know already. And of course Nicolas's own research and studies had came to a dead end a while ago.

Leaving to look for answers elsewhere was the only logical potion. Managing to do it all at once, with Ed and Al being engaged in Izumi Curtis's teaching while he could go and further his studies in the libraries of Dublith…

Still. It felt very strange, leaving after three years. Remembool had became his home – that white house with it's red rooftop and perpetually messy alchemist's study had became home.

"Ready to go?" he asked the boys, as they rushed out and to the yard where he stood, waiting.

"Yes, let's go before we'll be late!" Ed snapped.

"Alright, alright," Nicolas sighed, and then stepped forward to lock the door. He had closed the windows, taken care to unplug everything electrical, he had even pulled sheets over the more important furniture and all the bookshelves in the study just to make sure they wouldn't get too dusty. Pinako had a key to the house and would be looking after it while they were gone – and she would handle the boy's absence from school too, in case they ended up staying beyond the summer holidays. Everything was ready.

He turned the key, pulled it out and tested the door. Firmly locked – something people rarely bothered with, in Resembool.

"Alright," Nicolas said and turned, pocketing the key. "Let's go." And they did.

Izumi and Sig Curtis were waiting for them at the Resembool platform, next to the train that had stopped there for unloading and reloading. "We were starting to think you had chickened out," the woman called at them.

"Never!" Ed and Al answered in determined unison, while Nicolas sighed and followed them.

"Well, they seem lively," Izumi said, as the boys headed forth and into the train to demonstrate that they were not going to chicken out."

"Oh yeah," Nicolas sighed, and cast glance backwards, towards the village and the general direction of the Elric house. Ed and Al had been living there their whole lives – he had only three years. Why was _he_ the one with such reluctance to leave? Especially considering his motivation – alkahestry, Xerxes, Philosopher's Stone, Hohenheim, everything.

Ed's and Al's motivations were greater in the end, he supposed. Their alchemical careers were just at the beginning, after all.

"Shall we board then?" Mrs. Curtis asked, and they entered the train, finding Ed and Al having taken seats already. While Nicolas sat down beside the boys after hoisting his and their luggage up to the overhead rack, the Curtises sat across them.

Not much after that, they were on the move, heading towards northwest and the East City, from where they would catch another train towards south, and Dublith. As the train progressed, and Ed and Al managed to make a nuisance of themselves by singing _training, training, we're going to get training_, Nicolas asked the Curtises what Dublith was like.

"Warmer than Resembool, but not as unbearable as it can be, further south. Idyllic, more or less," the woman answered thoughtfully. "There are some shadier parts of course, and some shadier people, but it's like that in every bigger town."

Nicolas hesitated a bit at that, absently tugging at his right sleeve which had caught at the elbow joint. Hopefully it wouldn't be _too much_ warmer. Automail and heat didn't mix that well. Which reminded him, if he ever intended to visit the ruins of Xerxes, he would probably have to get automail adjustments and add some cooling units, or get himself roasted by his own limbs.

Well, Rush Valley was just a hop and a skip away from Dublith, so that would be easy to take care off.

"Are there many alchemists there?" Alphonse asked curiously.

"Hm. Many? I wouldn't say that," Mrs. Curtis said thoughtfully. "Many alchemists visit the place however, since Dublith has some research opportunities that in the bigger cities tend to be preserved for State Alchemists alone. There are some scientists studying alchemy, but I think I am the only one who can be classified as an alchemist."

They talked a bit more, but Ed and Al were so excited about the prospect of entering training that they eventually tired themselves out and fell asleep, leaning to each other on the bench and dozing off. Nicolas gave them a amused glance and shook his head before leaning back and deciding to let them sleep – the trip would pass quicker for them that way.

"Flamel," Mrs. Curtis started. "I have been thinking about something. Your amnesia, it's not the result of human transmutation, is it?"

"I doubt it," Nicolas answered. "According to my automail mechanic, I lost my arm and leg years ago, years before I found myself without memories. I think it's something else that caused it."

"And you remember nothing?"

"Nothing but alchemical knowledge. I sometimes get… notions, that I think have something to do with the person I used to be, things I used to see, but they're more like déjà vu's than anything else," the younger alchemist said and then shrugged. "I've gotten used to it, though. I doubt my memories can be returned – the alchemical knowledge comes to me easily, all I need is a good reminder, but nothing else. And I think I've had good enough reminders," he added, looking at his right hand.

"Hmm. I suppose that's true," the woman murmured. "There might be treatments, though."

Nicolas hesitated and shrugged. "I think my memories might've been as much a payment, as my arm and leg were, if for some other purpose. The precision between what I do and don't remember is too well defined to be caused by accident, injury, drug, or anything like that," he said. "Only alchemy has that sort of accuracy, even if I've never heard it applied to memories."

"Hm. So, as payment of something, you lost your whole self, but kept your knowledge," the female alchemist hummed thoughtfully, folding her arms. "I imagine whatever you transmuted, or tried to transmute, was pretty interesting."

Nicolas shrugged. Time travel was about as interesting as it got, he mused, but said nothing. It did make sense in a way for him to lose his personal history in midst of time travelling – his memories and personal history were probably the most important thing he had at that point, and the most useful – he could've predicted the future with them, but…

"Well, there's no way of knowing at this point," he said, letting the thought trail away while glancing at slumbering Ed and Al. "So. What sort of trial do you have in mind for the boys, Mrs. Curtis?"

"Ah, Mrs. _Curtis_. I do like the sound of that," the woman sighed happily, holding a hand to her cheek like a young girl while beside her Sig Curtis straightened proudly. "Izumi is fine though," the elder alchemist added.

"Izumi then," Nicolas nodded. "And I'm Nicolas. Or Nick, if you prefer."

"Alright then, Nick," the woman nodded and gave Ed and Al a contemplative sort of look. "I think I will implement the sort of training I went through when I started learning alchemy," she said then, and glanced at Nicolas. "Do you work out, Nick?"

"I do," the younger alchemist agreed. "I think I used to practice martial arts too, but I've probably lost my touch."

"Hm. Well then," Izumi said. "I believe that you can't have a practiced mind without a practiced body, therefore I will ensure that the brats are capable of handling my training of both. Therefore, survival training," she grinned almost evilly. "There is a lovely little island in middle of Dublith's famous Kauroy lake, called Yock Island. I think month there will do to see if your brothers have what it takes."

Nicolas stared at her with surprise, his eyebrows rising. "You're going to dump my brothers on a island for a month?" he asked slowly.

"Yes, I think so. Remember, I told you I'd be taking no arguments," she added.

"I'll more than argue if my brothers' lives end up in danger," he answered darkly.

"Ah, there will be nothing to worry about. I'll call ahead to Dublith when we reach East City, give Mason a call – he works at hubby's store, you see," she said. "He could do with some training too, so he can go to the island and keep an eye on the boys, see that they don't completely starve themselves. And of course provide some competition for what game there is on the island."

Nicolas narrowed his eyes. "You're serious," he said with something that wasn't quite surprise.

The smirk she gave him was diabolical. "Of course!" she said, and then took on a more serious expression. "When I was training, I had to survive in the mountains of Briggs for a month in the dead of winter!"

"Ah. I see," Nicolas murmured, adjusting his slipping glasses a bit. "So, you know martial arts yourself?"

"A well trained mind can only exist in a well trained body," she answered almost imperiously.

Nicolas nodded slowly, not sure how else to respond. He supposed that explained some things about him, though. For an alchemist, he was a bit… buff, even in the beginning – now he was more so, having grown good deal in the three years. And, in what brawls he had had with Ed and Al, he had found himself fairly adept at fighting, though Ed and Al didn't make that good opponents for testing something like that.

If Izumi had been his master too, well. It explained some things. And it was pretty likely that in his original time line, Izumi and Sig had travelled by Resembool, and helped to hold the levee at the river, and then had been accosted by him and… his Alphonse, for some training. It probably would've been his only chance at having a proper alchemical master.

"Hm. Maybe, if you don't mind, you could help me get back to shape," he suggested thoughtfully. "I've been keeping in shape, but pumping iron isn't quite the same as regular sparring."

"Well, I suppose I could, once the brats will be off to the island," Izumi said thoughtfully, looking him from top to bottom. "I won't go easy on you, though."

"All the better for me, isn't it?"

Ed and Al were half asleep during the half an hour they spent in East City station, waiting for the train that would take them to Dublith. Izumi made her call, and Nicolas bought the boys something to eat and drink from the station vendor, and soon enough they were on the way again. Ed and Al did stay awake for some of the remaining trip, but fell again fell asleep after tiring themselves out in their excitement.

"Are they always like this?" Izumi asked with some amusement.

"No, not really. I think trains make them sleepy," Nicolas said, smothering his own yawn. He would've rather liked to take a nap too, now that he thought about it, but that probably wouldn't have been too polite.

In the end, it was around early evening when they reached Dublith – which was indeed much warmed than Resembool. While Nicolas contemplated jumping into the next train to Rush Valley to get automail coolers now rather than later, Izumi and Sig let them out of the train and to the platform.

"Aah, it's hot in here," Ed groaned as they left the platform.

"I thought summers were hot back home," Al agreed with a sigh. "I'd like a bath…"

"Yeah, me too."

"Is that so?" Izumi asked amusedly. "We're not far from the beach, how about we take a bit of a stroll?"

With a bad feeling, Nicolas fallowed the woman and the boys, as they headed away from the platform and then down a couple of streets until they reached the shore of the Lake Kauroy. Ed and Al were quick to cool themselves off by the shoreline, something Nicolas would've liked to try himself – the auto mail was getting hotter and hotter and soon he'd be sweating through his shirt, no doubt.

"Hollen!" Izumi called towards the wooden pier apparently used by the local fishers. "You ready?"

"Ah, you're here already, Izumi? Yeah, I got the boat ready," one of the fishers there called, while lifting some fishing nets off his rowboat. "How was your holiday? Did you see lot of east?"

"We saw enough. I'll tell you over drinks, later," Izumi said and then turned to Nicolas's brothers. "Ed, Al, come along. You can leave your things here. Nick, you want to come along too?"

"Hm, sure," Nicolas decided, glancing at Sig who was taking Izumi's and the boys luggage. "Do you mind taking my suitcase too?"

"No," the big man said, taking the thing like it wasn't weighed down by several heavy books. While Ed and Al rushed to the boat eagerly, Nicolas followed at more moderate pace, taking a moment to enjoy the breeze blowing from the lake.

Izumi made Nicolas row, but he didn't mind the exercise much – the air was a bit cooler over the lake, and he did feel a bit stiff after the train ride. Whole Ed and Al enjoyed the sights, being under the impression that they were just sightseeing and nothing more, he kept quiet and just hauled the boat towards the centre of the lake.

"Yock Island!" Izumi pronounced, once they made it. It was bigger than Nicolas had thought, but then the lake was pretty huge too It was also like something out of holiday photos – covered by wild, fervently green forest, with golden shore line and crystal clear water surrounding it at all sides.

"This place looks wild," Ed murmured, after he and Al had disembarked the boat and jumped to the sandy shore. Beside him Al peered up curiously, where a flock of birds had taken flight.

"What are we doing here? Just looking around?" Al asked suspiciously.

"Well, something like that. Here," Izumi said, and then threw something at Ed – a large knife that had been on the boat, so big it looked rather like a machete in Ed's hands. "Don't lose that, you're going to need it."

"Huh?"

Izumi grinned. "This is no-man's land. You won't find any modern comforts here – no electricity, wells, no houses…" she said. "And of course, this place is full of wild beasts. And you," she added, her grin turning diabolically cheerful. "You have to stay alive on this island."

Ed and Al stared at her, uncomprehending at first. "What?" they then asked in unison.

"For a month. Thirty days," Izumi nodded. "Ah, and you're not allowed to use any alchemy during that time – and don't think I won't know if you do." She added. "That's all."

"What the hell?!" Ed asked.

"Mrs. Izumi, you can't be serious!" Al agreed, and then turned to Nicolas, who had returned to the boat after taking a moment to cool his feet in the shoreline, and take a drink. "Nick, tell me she's not serious!"

"She's serious," he answered much to the boys' horror.

"I'll pick the two of you up in a month," Izumi said, turning to the rowboat as well. "Oh," she paused then and glanced at the boys. "One is all, all is one. Once I return, I want to hear your interpretation of that. If you can't come up with an answer in a month, I'll send you two home. That's all."

Nicolas glanced at her with same surprise. One is all, all is one? That sounded familiar.

"But, but, but," Ed tried to object.

"You can't be serious!" Al said while Izumi jumped back to the boat.

"Nick!" the boys then said together, turning to look at him. "Do something!"

"…I promised not to interfere with her teaching methods," Nicolas said, torn between amusement and guilt. It felt wrong, just leaving them there – what if they got hurt, or went hungry, what if it would rain and they'd get sick? But… for all her sharp edges, he didn't think Izumi was a fool or unnecessarily cruel. Maybe she had odd methods, but she was an alchemist – and seemed to have none of those second thoughts that had eventually paralysed Nicolas when he had tried to go about teaching the boys.

She had decided a method, and that was that. In a strange way, Nicolas really had to admire her for that. He had never been able to do that when it came to teaching – the moment Ed and Al had started to express objections, he had folded and changed methods, and eventually he had given up entirely. So, if nothing else, Izumi had a stronger will when it came to handling kids.

Plus, Izumi had said that there'd be someone else on the island too, someone named Mason. Nicolas would trust that this Mason person would make sure Ed and Al wouldn't get themselves killed.

"I'll see you two in a month," he said eventually, waving his hand and then taking the oars.

They stared at him with disbelief. "What the hell! Nick! You can't just leave us here!"

"Bye boys!" Izumi said, while motioning to Nicolas to start rowing – which he did, carefully avoiding looking at Ed and Al, fearing that he'd break. "Work hard now! And try not get killed!"

Ed and All kept yelling after them as Nick rowed, trying not to listen. "I think that might've been the hardest thing I've done since Trisha died," he admitted in rough voice once they were finally out of hearing range – or when Ed and Al stopped bellowing after them. "I've been looking after them day and night for three years now… It kind of feels like betrayal, leaving them like this."

"Well then, it'll do you some good then too being away from those brats, won't it?" Izumi grinned at him. "Don't worry, they will be fine. There is nothing truly dangerous on that island – none of the snakes here are venomous, and there aren't any lethally poisonous plants. And besides, that place is rich in wild game, and hunger is the best teacher when it comes to hunting."

"Right," Nicolas muttered, throwing a glance at the island. "This Mason person _will_ bring the boys back if something happens, right?"

"Yeah, there's a boat hidden on the island, so there's always a way out – and if something serious happens, Mason has some flares. I'll let the fishers know about this test, tell them to be on look out for the flares just in case," Izumi said, leaning against the boat's side and smirking. "It'll be fine, and if it won't be then that's just to show that they're not fit for training."

"Right," Nicolas sighed, and kept on rowing. "Well, I suppose I can't do anything for them now. And I need to concentrate on getting a place to stay…"

"There's a spare room at our place, you can stay there," Izumi promised. "I want to have a look at your fighting skills at any rate, we might as well start with that immediately."

"I want to do some research, so it's probably better that I find my own place. I tend to keep odd hours when I study," Nicolas murmured. "But I'd love to take you up on your offer for the time being, until I find another place to stay."

"Hm. Probably best you stick to our guest room until we know how long you're going to stay. I might just as well kick the boys out in a week, if Mason gets a reason to bring them back early," Izumi mused and then looked at him curiously. "Research? Do you have something specific in mind?"

"Some. I've been studying Xingnese and their version of alchemy, alkahestry," Nicolas answered. "Resembool is a small place with little resources, I was hoping I might be able to find someone who can speak Xingnese here – I can understand the writing, more or less, but I've never had any practice with the spoken language. Plus, I have some problems with Xingnese ideals and such, dictionaries don't really explain those."

"Hm. I know a man who lives in Dublith, who is originally from Xing," Izumi said thoughtfully. "I can introduce you if you'd like. He's been living in Dublith for good thirty years now, but he still can't speak Amestrian too well – his son and daughter always translate for him."

"That would be helpful, thanks."

"Is that all you study, just the language and alchemy of Xing?"

Nicolas smiled. No it wasn't, not even nearly, but he didn't really want to talk about Philosopher's Stones or Xerxes with anyone, not even a fellow alchemist. It was a bit too heavy subject matter for casual conversations. "It's a start," he said instead.

The house of Izumi and Sig wasn't too far from the shore, and it had a beautiful view over the Lake Kauroy. The house was connected to the butchery that Sig ran, though Izumi seemed to work there too, most of the time. It, according to Izumi, was the source of finest pork and beef in all of Dublith.

The guest room Nicolas was put in was simple and fairly small with two beds and small table. It made him more certain that he'd find his own place, if the boys passed – the place wasn't big enough to accommodate both him and the boys, and Ed and Al needed the space more than he did, and the close proximity to their teacher. He decided to try and find a place near by, some simple apartment, preferably furbished one, which he could rent short term.

Then the guest room was the least thing in his mind, as Izumi called him to the backyard for some sparring – and then proceeded to kick him across the yard with definite ease.

"Yeah, you definitely haven't been training. I can tell that you've had _some_ training, but after three years it's a small wonder if you retain half of it," she mused, as Nicolas lay on the ground after her eight easy flip that had sent him crashing down. "Hm. I could probably whip you back to shape in a month, but you wouldn't be left much time for your research," she added.

Nicolas considered it, not bothering to stand up just yet – his head was still spinning. He turned a bit so that he could look at her. "How many hours a day?" he asked.

"Hm. Five," Izumi decided. "Three in the morning, two in the evening if you prefer. Plus ten or so hours a week with a punching bag."

"I think I can handle that," the younger alchemist said, looking up to the sky. "Does that make me your student too?" he then asked, glancing at her again.

"Only in martial arts, I suppose," she answered, and crouched down beside him, looking thoughtful as she leaned her chin to her knuckles. "How good are you at alchemy, Nick?"

"Hard to say. I haven't had anything to compare myself to, in the last years. Except for Ed and Al, of course."

"I'd like to see what you can do, if you don't mind," she said after a moment of thought.

"Hm. Might as well. I'm curious to see if I can do that, at any rate," Nicolas murmured and then pushed himself up with a sight groan. He'd be blue and purple all over the following day, no doubt. "Now let's see," he murmured, glancing around the yard and taking in the gravel below them, before picturing in his mind what he wanted.

He brought his palms together and slapped them to the ground.

It was hard to say what it felt like. He could feel a tingle of power in his palms, the familiar electric crackle of alchemical discharge – but the rest of the sensation was more mental, or maybe spiritual, than physical. He could _feel_ the circle there, the complicated patterns of the array _inside_ him, but it wasn't a physical sensation, just awareness of it there. He could sense the bones and muscles that drew the circle, the sinews and veins where the power travelled and the cells that drew the symbols… but he could also feel it in the _automail_, how the bearings and the support, the plates and the wiring, were used as parts of the array.

The result was immediate. A stone pillar grew out of the ground, with delicate etchings carved all over it, and intricate stone decorations capping the top and embracing the bottom. It left behind the familiar indent, having sucked the material from the surrounding ground, and the reaction was familiar smooth formation of freeform transmutation, but still. It was different.

"So, you really have seen that thing," Izumi said, eying the pillar thoughtfully. "How much of it do you remember?"

"The white, the gate, the knowledge," Nicolas answered, thinking about it. There was something missing – lot, actually. He could remember some of what he had seen, the feeling of his head nearly exploding with the amount of information crammed into it, but… there had been something else. Something that was maybe even more important than what was inside the gate?

"Do you remember _her_?" Izumi asked.

"Her?" Nicolas blinked.

"When I tried human transmutation, there was… someone there. A being, or entity, it's hard to say. She was right there, before the gate opened, in the whiteness," she answered, thinking about it. "I remember asking who she was, and she said that she was what people would call the world, or the universe, or god, or Truth, one, all. Or me." She shook her head and touched her stomach. "She was the one who took my payment."

"She," Nicolas murmured, frowning. He couldn't remember any woman, but… there was something. "One is all, all is one," he said, glancing at her. "Is that where you got that from?"

"Partially," Izumi admitted.

"Hmm… I don't remember talking to anyone in the gate, or whatever that place can be called, but I think there _was_ someone there," Nicolas said. "I couldn't tell if it was a woman, though."

"Well. I wouldn't call her _she_ either, but calling her an _it_ seems even less fitting," Izumi murmured, frowning. "She was a _person_. Not a human, not even remotely, but she definitely had a mind and personality. Shitty one at that."

Nicolas snorted, before frowning with thought. "One is all, all is one," he said again. "I think I remember something about that. That day when Trisha took me in, the first day I remember…" Trisha had chosen his first name, and he had chosen his second one, Flamel, because of the harmony it represented. Fixing of the volatile and balancing the difference.

Because all is one and one is all, balance can always be achieved. He had known it instinctively then – but that wasn't actually all that common notion in Alchemy, not according to the books he had read. Actually, was there such a notion? Equivalent Exchange only covered only so much, and concept of _one_ being equal to _everything_ wasn't actually alchemically sound. It was, but… it wasn't, not according to modern knowledge

Shaking his head he looked at the pillar he had made, before clapping his hands, and returning it to it's original state as gravel. "I suppose that's something else to research about," he said.

"Hmm," Izumi answered, and then looked at him. "You transmute very detailed work," she then said. "Do you have any particular affinity?"

"Metals," Nicolas admitted, and then got an idea. Quickly pushing his right sleeve back, he slapped his hands together, and then touched the longer plate covering the arm of his auto mail. In answer, it shifted, and a blade extended from it. "Hah, so this is how it's supposed to work," he said, admiring the result.

"Very neat," Izumi said without seeming too impressed.

"I had been wondering. This is one transmutation I've known for years – I even made gloves some years back to enable this transmutation. It's smoother, when I do it without circle, and the blade comes out better," he answered and then paused as he realised something.

He had wondered, back then when he had started working on those gloves, why he hadn't had anything like that before. Especially since he had automail, something that was just perfect for inscribing some alchemical arrays to. But of course he wouldn't have, not if he could transmute circlelessly.

Well, that was one mystery solved, he mused, while turning his hand this way and that to figure out which was the best way to go about using the blade.

"Stop admiring your handiwork. It's very nice, but there's no need to prance it around," Izumi snorted at him. "Come on," she added then. "It's about time we got something to eat."

"Alright," Nicolas nodded, and transmuted the plate back to the way it had been. He paused a bit before following Izumi inside, and threw a guilty glance towards the lake's direction, wondering if Ed and Al had managed to find something to eat. They were still pretty young, and he hadn't never thought of trying to instruct them in something like survival…

Well, at least they had had those sandwiches in East City, so maybe they wouldn't starve just yet.

"Work hard, boys," he muttered and shaking his head turned to head inside.

x

Merry X-mas!


End file.
